


As The Ink Flows

by CheshireMoon, RexxieConverse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Community: deancasbigbang, DCBB, DCBB 2014, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, M/M, Misunderstandings, Writer Castiel, Writer Dean, glasses!cas, mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:53:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireMoon/pseuds/CheshireMoon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RexxieConverse/pseuds/RexxieConverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU- Dean Winchester, known to the world as the gun-slinging western writer Kurt Smith, loves his career as an author, getting to spin his dreams of grand adventure and heroic deeds into best selling novels. Where blood, guts and glory may be Dean’s choice of entertainment, fellow author Castiel Novak, pen name Emmanuel Anael, chose the more philosophical route, using religion and narration of humanity’s condition to drive the plot of his tales. The two could not have more disdain for each other’s style of storytelling, which is made very much known through a happenstance meeting turned heated blow out. As fate seems to have a very interesting sense of humor, Dean and Castiel find themselves accidentally frequenting the same cafe after their disastrous first encounter, and both stubbornly decide to make The Caffeinated Moose their permanent go-to writing destination despite each other’s infuriating presence. Through spilled coffee, ruffled papers, blossoming words, and steam-fogged glasses, will something other than ink flow between these two talented writers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fahrenheit 451

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  

             Dean Winchester--or Kurt Smith as the literary community knew him as--was a damn good writer, thank you very much, and he had earned the right to be considered as such.  Or rather, that’s what he was repeatedly telling himself as he paced the cluttered living room of his apartment, trying to wrangle the right side of his brain into submission.  His eyes flicked to and fro as his feet carried him restlessly back and forth, but he wasn’t seeing his furniture or walls, he was seeing his character and his story’s timeline dancing before him.  He was missing _something_ , he was absolutely sure of it, but he just couldn’t seem to find it yet.

            He was so deep in his thoughts that when his cellphone rang, he jumped, making a very undignified noise that made him suddenly glad he lived alone.  He yanked the mobile out of his pocket and answered it without bothering to look at who was calling.

            “Hello?”

            “Hey Dean, it’s uh, Chuck.” Dean tossed the pen he’d been toying with down on the table and collapsed onto the couch with a huff.

            “Yeah?”

            “Crowley wants you to come in.”  Dean groaned quietly.  Crowley was a brilliant but ruthless editor, and as much as Dean respected his damn near fearless yet practically perfect editorial skills, Dean just couldn’t bring himself to like the smarmy Brit.  He was both pompous and loud and he was just overall unpleasant.

            “When?”

            “This afternoon.  Around two?”  Dean closed his eyes and massaged his temple.

            “He couldn’t have scheduled for another day or let me know a little more in advance?”  He griped.

            “I uh, I’m just passing on the message, Dean,” Chuck responded nervously, and Dean rolled his eyes.

            “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.  Bye Chuck.”  The poor man was barely able to stutter out a goodbye before Dean had hung up, tossing the device onto the couch beside him.

            “Son of a bitch,” he muttered to his empty apartment, finally letting thoughts of his book drift away.  Without the sound of his shuffling feet, muttering and the almost ever-present sound of his own thoughts, Dean found the apartment deafeningly silent.  He sat there and contemplated the loud, static non-sound that seemed to permeate every crevice of the home.  His eyes roved around, as if he could catch sight of the sound that wasn’t a sound. He stood static for a moment, his pose matching the unidentified not-noise. Dean then gave a small sigh, deciding he was better off preparing for the approaching appointment with Crowley than listening to his own silence. 

            He gathered his drafts, which had at that point traveled to blanket almost every part of the small apartment in his recent thought-storm. Dean carefully placed the pages in his well-worn navy blue folder, which he then proceeded to place in a nearby leather satchel.  His fingers caressed the worn leather as his mind wandered slightly, the smooth feel of it both familiar but always still somehow pleasantly new to him.  He still wasn’t quite sure about how Crowley would feel about his newest draft, as he had decided to cut a particular brutal showdown that the man had seemed quite fond of. That scene had been originally placed in the work to have a little more interaction between the main antagonist and the hero, but had decided that the piece had become a little piece of unnecessary bloodshed. And coming from Kurt Smith, the king of blood, guts and glory, that truly was saying something. Dean once more massaged his temples, checking the time on his outdated smartphone and finding he had about an hour and a half before he had to make his appearance.

           Not wanting to have any more interaction with the overbearingly awkward assistant Chuck in the publishing house waiting room any more than necessary, he decided that staying at home for as long as possible was his best bet. Putting off leaving for as long as he could manage, Dean wandered over to the fridge and plucked out a bottle of beer. He was going to need the liquid courage, if he was talking to Crowley later...

***

            Castiel slowly sank into the dark brown leather couch, pulling out the binder containing the final draft of his latest work, a novel which detailed the events of an unlikely romance, but used purgatory and its many beasts and banes as its characters and setting. For that is what Emmanuel Anael was known for; works which spoke of the world in a philosophical mindset, using themes common in religion and using them to provide a commentary and analysis on the various aspects of humanity. Castiel knew when he first chose his genre of writing that he was taking a risk, as sparkly vampires and gory apocalypse fiction seemed to be what was selling nowadays. But, as he liked to reflect upon often, his very first novel had immediately been snatched up for publication, so he obviously was doing something right.

           He leafed through the binder, patiently waiting in the classy, modernly dressed waiting room for his editor’s office. Chock full of deep toned chintzy furniture, it seemed to reflect the editor’s rich personality well. The receptionist slash assistant slash Crowley’s errand boy Chuck sat across from him behind a dark-stained wooden desk, taking turns staring at the phone with a strange sort of fright and attempting to sneakily type a few more stray words in his own work-in-progress novel.  Chuck had not seemed to notice Castiel’s arrival yet, which he was perfectly content with, as it meant he could spend the time waiting for his editor  re-reading his own story. He had spent months perfecting this one, wanting to concoct the perfect balance of chaos and purity to create his version of purgatory.

           “Oh my Jesus!” The sudden exclamation caused Castiel to snap his binder shut and jerk his head up, expecting to find some sort of disaster to befall his eyes from the intensity of the shout. His eyes found Chuck staring at him, one foot on his rolling office chair and the other on the floor in some sort of mock martial arts pose. “You couldn’t have, like, warned a guy before becoming a suddenly appearing statue on the couch? Thought you were a weeping angel or something!” Chuck relaxed slightly, having recognized the trench-coated author from his previous visits to the office.

           “I was not aware that it was common for angels to be found ‘weeping’?” Castiel tilted his head, not understanding the reference the man had attempted to make. Is this something he should research later, or…?

           “Uh, it’s from the show- er, never mind. Your appointment isn’t for another hour, so I guess you should just wait, or, whatever.” The ever awkward receptionist began to shuffle his already organized papers lining his desk, seemingly deciding he was done talking.  Castiel examined him for another couple moments, squinting briefly before shrugging his shoulders, shaking his head and returning his attention to the binder in his lap.  He slid a finger along the top of the paper, coming to and peeling back the corner in preparation to turn the page. 

           He quickly lost himself, reading and rereading lines, thinking of ways that he could edit each one before changing his mind and deciding that he quite liked the way he’d worded everything.  Time slid by him, as it was wont to do when he was distracted, and when he glanced up at the clock on the wall, he found that he only had fifteen minutes before Crowley would presumably call him into his office. 

            It was around then that a man who, in Castiel’s opinion, was entirely too casually dressed for the setting, strolled into the waiting area.  The man had a navy blue folder clutched to his side and a leather bag hanging on the opposite shoulder, and he called out a gruff greeting to Chuck, who snapped his attention up from his computer, where he had just been typing.

            “Oh, hey Dean.  Uh, just take a seat I guess. Crowley’s still, y’know, in his office and everything.”  Chuck’s voice quavered slightly, as it always did, and Dean rolled his eyes before sauntering over to the chairs and sinking into one.  He tugged his pen out of his pocket and sighed lightly.  Finally, he seemed to realize that he wasn’t alone in the waiting room, and that Castiel’s eyes were on him.  He raised his gaze, and found himself a little disarmed by the pure extremity of the blue that he found watching him. 

            “Hey,” Dean found himself saying quite suddenly, almost reflexively.  Castiel tilted his head to the side once more, appraising the man presented him before responding.  He was dressed in a simple plaid shirt and a pair of worn blue jeans, and it looked as though he hadn’t shaved in a couple days, leaving him with a solid scruff.  His eyes were a strange shade of moss green that seemed to twinkle with life.

            “Hello,” he said at last.  Dean’s eyebrows quirked up, and instinctively he started to silently attempt to string together the proper words to describe the depth of the man’s gravelly baritone. 

            “Crowley call you in suddenly too?  I swear, that man doesn’t give a damn if other people have lives, he’ll have his way.”  Dean twirled his pen once or twice as he spoke, shrugging one shoulder in a “what can you do” sort of way.

            “Yes, I too was called in unexpectedly.  Fortunately, I was not busy and so it was not overly difficult for me to come in.”  Castiel smiled in what he hoped was a friendly manner and Dean nodded slowly.  Castiel pursed his lips and tried to think of an appropriate topic of conversation, afraid of coming off as unfriendly and stand-offish again, as his agent, Becky, had informed him was a constant problem.

            “Who is your inspiration as a writer?”  He blurted as the only idea to come to mind.  Dean looked a little surprised at the sudden subject change, but decided to just go with it.  He thought for a moment and then decided to drop his own pen name, to see what another writer, his colleague, thought of him.

            “Kurt Smith,” he said simply, watching Castiel to gauge his reaction. 

            Castiel smirked and raised up one of his eyebrows, eyeing Dean critically as he adjusted his thick-framed glasses.  “You are joking, aren’t you?  Kurt Smith?”

            “What?” Dean asked, bewildered at the response.

            “Kurt Smith is one of the great many ‘authors’ who wouldn’t know actual literature if it hit them in the face.”  Castiel’s tone was obviously disdainful and Dean felt anger clawing at the back of his throat immediately.

            “And just how do you figure that?”  He asked through gritted teeth.

            “Surely you’ve read it and should know precisely what I’m talking about.  Smith’s only concerns are how much blood he can have his characters bathe in and how many times they can survive completely impossible situations.  It can _hardly_ be counted as literature!”  Dean had to press his fist into his thigh to keep himself from hitting the pretentious snob of a man right in his smug mouth.

            “Oh?  And I suppose your inspiration is a real literary genius, huh?”  Dean asked with a tight jaw.  Castiel straightened a little more and smiled as if sharing a private joke with himself.

            “Of course.  Anyone in the literary world should know that Emanuel Anael is one of the leading modern novelists.”  Castiel’s throat went a little dry as he spoke the words and he sunk back into his chair a little.  He would need to have a chat with Becky.  She’d insisted that he try to act more confident as well as more friendly, but all he’d succeeded in doing was making himself feel like a pompous ass, a fact that he resented.

            Dean actually laughed out loud.  “Emanuel Anael?  That over-hyped nut?  I have never read anything with more obvious ‘subtle’ religious undertones.  And talk about taking philosophy too far!  By no means should that much religious crap and ‘philosophy’ be pumped into four hundred pages.  The only reason he has an audience is because America has way too many spiritually and intellectually lacking people who want to feel self-important!”  Castiel was both horrified and enraged by Dean’s assessment of his work. 

            “At least Anael’s readers have a modicum of intelligence!  How much intelligence do you need to read bloody westerns about ‘cowboys’ with almost no sense of morality?”  Castiel’s voice had risen above a normal speaking voice and it made Chuck flinch at his desk.

            “No sense of morality?  Have you ever read ‘Past Dawn?’  Laurence’s biggest struggle was his morality!”  Dean argued back. He was on the edge of his seat without realizing it.  Chuck was watching the two of them, unaccustomed to the sudden noise, flicking around behind his desk unsure what to do about the situation.

            “You call _that_ a sense of morality?”  Castiel practically shouted back.

            “Oh, I’m so sorry that there wasn’t a ridiculously heavy religious undertone that seeped into every part of the novel, necessary or not! Maybe Laurence’s Stetson should have been used to symbolize some glorified saint or something, oh yes, that would have been _perfect_ for the plot!”  They both got to their feet at the same time, facing off squarely, faces set into angry masks.  Chuck stood hastily and slipped into Crowley’s office.

            “Uh, sir?  There’s a bit of a situation out in the waiting area,” Chuck stammered out in response to Crowley’s questioning scowl.

            “What d’you mean there’s a situation?  Deal with whatever it is and get out!”  Crowley grumbled. His words were immediately followed by a muffled shout from beyond the office door.  “What in the blazes?”

            “It’s Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak.  They’re, uh, arguing.  Please, sir?”  Chuck motioned towards the door helplessly and Crowley got to his feet with a thunderous expression on his face that sent Chuck scuttling out of the office before he could be bowled over by the infuriated editor.

            “Oi!”  He shouted as he was met by the site of the two men practically in each other’s faces, new insults on their lips.  They both turned towards him and paled considerably.  “What the hell d’you think you’re doin’, mates?  This is a bloody _waiting area_ , not an obsolete gladiator arena.  I think it would be _best_ if the both of you took your drafts, which are, thank you, _all over my waiting room floor_ , and went on your merry ways!”  Castiel and Dean exchanged mutual glares, but neither dared to speak against Crowley so they gathered their binder and folder, which had gone to the floor when they’d both stood.  They both turned, and after one last withering glance at the other, strode out without another word to anyone.  Crowley watched them go before stomping back into his office, muttering under his breath.

            Chuck stood there for a few extra moments, trying to calm down before returning to his desk and reopening the Word document he had been working on previously, attempting to push the fight out of his mind with his renewed feverish typing.

***

            “Charlie!”  Becky called over to the red-headed woman, who immediately made her way over to the bar, sitting down on the closest barstool and taking up the second beer that Becky had ordered.  “I have some interesting news…”  Becky began, lowering her head while trying to make her tone conspiratorial and mysterious.  Charlie took a swig of her beer and leaned in, tilting the bottle in Becky’s direction to indicate that she should continue.  Becky glanced around them and leaned in even closer, as if she was about to divulge a huge secret.

            “I have it on good authority that our two favourite clients may have met today.”  She wiggled her eyebrows up and down dramatically. Charlie’s face lit up.

            “No way!  When?  How?”  Becky giggled at her friend’s excitement.

            “I called Castiel tonight to see how he was getting on and he was absolutely fuming about some ‘half-wit asshole with no respect for true literature’ that he’d tried to be friendly with.  Apparently, there was a scheduling snafu with Crowley today.”  They both took a moment to groan at the name of the infamously pompous jackass of an editor.  “So, they both ended up waiting in the lobby to see Crowley together, and Castiel, per my advice, tried to strike up conversation so as not to seem like some sort of super-chilled Vulcan or something, you know how he is.” Becky placed her face in her hands at this, shaking her head as if mourning Castiel’s lack of social skills. Charlie nodded with a chuckle, having seen firsthand how icy and distant her friends’ client could come across.  “Anyway, they got into talking about their writing ‘inspirations’ and the two idiots dropped their own pseudonyms. Seriously.”  Charlie was already laughing, a grin stretching from ear to ear.

            “I talked to Chuck when he came over,” Becky continued, “And apparently the argument nearly turned to a full out Buffy style showdown.  They were both yelling and in each other’s face when Crowley finally came out of his office to kick them out.  Castiel told me that he saw the front of Dean’s folder, y’know, his pseudo and name and everything.  Bet if you gave him a call, Dean’s still furious.”  Becky waggled her eyebrows suggestively.  Charlie smirked and immediately yanked out her phone, glad that the bar was fairly quiet.

            She dialed Dean and flinched, holding back laughter at his obviously still-pissed tone.  “Yeah?”

            “Hey Dean, it’s just me.”  Becky leaned in so she could listen in on the conversation.

            “Oh.  Hey Charlie.  Sorry, I’m in a totally crap mood.”  Charlie opened her mouth to make some sort of response, but Dean continued and she could just picture him pacing around his apartment as he spoke, gesticulating wildly with the flow of his oncoming rant.  “Went to see Crowley today and there was this absolute bag of dicks named Castiel, or _Emmanuel Anael_ to his mindless flock of tasteless fans. _”_   He spat the name out like it was some disgusting thing that had been lodged in the back of his throat.  Charlie had to hold the phone a little bit away from them so that Dean would not hear her and Becky laughing, both almost falling off their stools.  When they brought the phone close enough to hear again, Dean was still ranting.

            “…hoity-toity philosophy full of so much supposedly subtle religious bullshit that I expected Jesus freaking Christ to crawl out of the damn pages and jump me.  And he was so freaking uppity about it, looking at me like I was some sort of literary scum who doesn’t know the difference between his ‘their’s.  I just wanted to punch the look off his stupid face, knock the smugness right out of those clear blue eyes of his.”  Charlie and Becky exchanged a look at Dean’s choice of description and smirked.

            Charlie let Dean finish ranting and chatted for a few minutes more before excusing herself, sliding her phone into her pocket as she slowly turned back to Becky with a mischievous look in her eye..

            “‘ _Knock the smugness right out of those clear blue eyes of his,’_ ” Becky said in her best imitation of Dean’s rough voice, dissolving into a fit of giggles.  “Castiel said something like that, I can’t believe I didn’t mention it!  _‘I am not prone to violence, but I was struck with the sudden urge to shake him until his damn freckles scattered to the floor.’_ ”  Her impersonation of Castiel’s gravelly baritone had Charlie practically spitting up the beer she had just sipped.

            “Are you getting the sense that there is some serious sexual tension starting to form here, or is it just me?”  Becky asked, grinning like a madman.

            “Oh yes,” Charlie replied with a Cheshire grin, turning to the bartender to order a round of shots. It looked like she and Becky had some _very_ serious issues to discuss concerning a blue eyed client and one freckled author.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official Art by **[McBenik](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com)**  
>  ↪ _[Cover](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art) ☁ [Illustration](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
> Official Playlist on **[8tracks](http://www.8tracks.com/conversingconverse/as-the-ink-flows-1)**  
>  ↪ _[Reblog on Tumblr](http://waywardangel.co.vu/post/101323555785/the-playlist-for-two-stubborn-authors-fall-in-love)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **CheshireMoon** (sammylied)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.sammylied.tumblr.com/)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **RexxieConverse** (cascelestial)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.waywardangel.co.vu/) ☁ [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ofmirandalynn)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  _Want more? Check out ****[A Home Beneath The Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135366/chapters/2295273)!_


	2. Paradise Lost

            Dean stared up at the ceiling, trying his best to sink completely into the cushions of the couch.  His mood was particularly foul, a product of his continuing writer’s block and his meeting with the disgustingly haughty Castiel the day before.  The thought of him and his skeevy trenchcoat made Dean’s skin crawl and he let out a low groan.

            As they were picking up their drafts while being shooed out of Crowley’s waiting area by the big man himself, Dean had caught a glimpse of the front of Castiel’s binder, or rather _Emmanuel’s_ binder.  It had taken all of Dean’s concentration to keep his fists balled at his side and not to smash them into that smug pouty mouth.  Damn holier-than-thou scribbler, fancying himself a prophet of the modern age or some weird spiritual shit like that.

            “I need to get out of this freaking apartment!”  Dean yelled suddenly, pushing himself up and off the couch, nearly tripping over the coffee table as he did so.  He turned and momentarily glared at the little wooden table for its offensive closeness before beginning his habitual pacing. Dean racked his mind for anywhere he could go to escape his suddenly enclosing home. A year ago, he might have gone to the Roadhouse, but it wasn’t there anymore.  The fire had not only taken his place of refuge, but two good friends.  Ellen and her daughter Jo died in that blaze, and although the other employees had tried to fix the place up and get it started again, business without Ellen’s strict eye was impossible and the Roadhouse eventually closed its doors for good.

            Dean’s pacing stilled for a moment as a small, sad, yet fond smile slipped to his lips as he remembered his times at the Roadhouse.  Ellen had kept a cozy little booth near the back open at all times, his very own VIP spot, and she’d bring him coffee and a large slice of her signature sweet cherry pie.  Jo would drop in from waitressing to talk when none of her tables needed her.  Losing them had been a shock.

            He shook his head to clear the sudden flood of memories.  He’d done his mourning and Ellen would have smacked him silly for moping about it.  He resumed his pacing, treading a circular pattern in his already well-worn carpet. After a few more vigorous laps, he finally decided to call Sam before he drove himself absolutely insane.  Big hot-shot lawyer that he was, he _had_ to know some place in New York where Dean could go to relax and try to work out his writer’s block.  The phone rang several times after he dialed and Dean was beginning to think that Sam wasn’t going to pick up when at last he answered.

            “Hello?”

            “Hey little brother, how’s the lawyer business going?”  Dean asked, his mood lightening immediately at the brief sound of his brother’s voice.

            “Dean, hey!  Things are going pretty great actually, how about you?”  Sam replied enthusiastically.

            “Pretty freakin’ crappy, to be honest.  I’m going out of my mind here, Sam.  I need somewhere to go and clear my head and write, like I used to at the Roadhouse.”  There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line.  Sam hadn’t been as close to Ellen and Jo as Dean, but their loss had still had been hard hit for him as well.  “So, know any coffee shops or anything, Sammy?” Dean asked, breaking the sudden silence that has crept up on them.

            “Actually,” Sam said.  Dean sat up a little straighter at the sound.  “It’s this little coffee place I found recently called the Caffeinated Moose.  Really quiet and nice, great coffee.  You should check it out, it isn’t too terribly far from your apartment.  You should be able to drive over in nothing flat.”  Dean silently reflected on how grateful he was that he’d managed to get an apartment in the suburbs, where it was easy for him to drive his Impala without being too impeded by dreadful New York traffic.  “I’ve been there a few times now.  When you go in, mention me to Gabriel, the owner, and ask him for what I always get.  You’ll love it.”  Dean nodded earnestly although Sam couldn’t see him and asked for the address of the place, jotting it down at the top of a fresh notebook page he balanced on the armrest of the sofa.  They talked for a short while longer before Sam needed to go, saying a client was on the other line.

            Dean gathered his notebook, pen and draft folder and immediately headed out, eager to get out of the apartment. Placing his papers and pens in the seat next to him, Dean got into the Impala, the promise of the beckoning road for even a short drive in his baby already lifting his spirits.

            It was only a ten minute drive from the apartment to the cafe, but Dean enjoyed that short time he got with Baby.  He popped in a random cassette tape from his collection and was graced with the familiar sounds of Kansas drifting past him.  Dean pounded out the rhythm to “Dust In The Wind” as he waited at a light.  The ride soon came to an end, but Dean’s mood was considerably lighter than when he’d left his apartment as he parked in front of the cafe.

            On the outside, The Caffeinated Moose appeared much like any other coffee shop except for it’s exceedingly odd name. It was a simple rusty-red brick affair, with paneled windows and an open freshly painted forest green door topped by a rather large pair of moose antlers. The aroma of fresh pastries and newly brewed coffee was strong and succulent even before stepping inside. Dean strode in with a critical eye, and was pleasantly surprised in finding a warm atmosphere and homey decor, cushy chairs and plaid fabric everywhere his eyes roamed. 

            “He-llo!”  Dean’s eyes were drawn to the counter, behind which stood a shorter man with a grin, leaning against the counter.  Dean made his way over, smiling.

            “Gabriel, I’m guessing?”  He asked.  The man looked slightly taken aback and grinned wider.

            “I’m afraid that you have me at a disadvantage, stranger.  May I ask who you are, handsome?”  Gabriel asked with a cheerful wink.

            “My name’s Dean.  Sam Winchester’s my little brother, says he comes in here a lot.”  Recognition lit up Gabriel’s face and, if possible, his grin grew even wider.

            “I see!  Yeah, Sammy has quickly become one of my regulars.  I keep begging him to become our mascot around here.  How often do you see a human moose walking around?  Maybe you can talk to him, get him to agree. Got a pair of antlers with his name on it.”  Dean chuckled.  He liked the man, who seemed to have a quick sense of humour and a way about him that said he didn’t care what anyone thought about him. 

            “I’ll talk to him, see what I can do.  He’d finally be able to put all that abnormal height to use, eh?”  Gabriel laughed and straightened up.

            “So, what can I get for you, Dean-o?” 

            “Sam said to get his usual.  Said you’d know what it was.”

            “Ah yes, your brother is rather fond of our Van Halen,” he said as he started tapping on the iPad that served as the small cafe’s till.  “I’ll get you a large and put it on the tab I started for your brother.  He’s such a caffeine junkie that he won’t even notice.”  He winked at Dean once more before turning to go begin prepping Dean’s drink.  Dean turned, leaning against the counter and looking around.  There were tables in the main part of the shop, but off in the corners there were cozy armchairs and couches. 

            “Y’know, I’ve been looking for a new place to go and clear my head and write,” he called back to Gabriel.

            “Oh?  Well I hope you’ve found a home here, friend.  My brother’s a writer, comes in just about every day.  Maybe you two can talk a little about whatever it is writers talk about, like what characters you are going to kill off heartlessly this week or something.”  Dean smiled lightly and nodded.

            “Here you are,” Gabriel said proudly.  Dean turned to find a steaming cup of coffee very nearly in his face.  Somewhere behind him, he heard the front bell ring with a new customer.

            “Hey, thanks man,” he said as he took the Styrofoam cup.

            “No problem.  Hey baby bro, what’s wrong?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost.  A very offensive ghost.”  Gabriel looked over Dean’s shoulder, so instinctively he turned to see who was behind him.  His elbow knocked into the man and Dean’s coffee started to topple out of his grasp.  A few drops of scalding hot liquid leaked onto his shirt.  He hissed at the burning, but it was quickly forgotten moments later.

            “Damn, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were right ther--” he cut himself off as he met a sickeningly familiar set of blue eyes.

            “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” Dean groused.  Castiel took a step back, glaring at Dean over the top of his glasses.  Gabriel, seemingly oblivious to the tension that had suddenly cropped up, rushed around the counter with a damp rag to dab the coffee out of Dean’s shirt.

            “Speak of the devil, this is my little brother, Dean!”  Gabriel said with a proud smile, motioning towards Castiel, who was still glowering at Dean.  Dean was struggling to see how Gabriel was related to such a pompous ass. Seriously, how big of a douche did you have to be to wear a chunky sweater paired with a trenchcoat?  Gabe set the rag on the counter and looked to his brother, narrowing his eyes.

            “Hey, c’mon bro, Dean-o didn’t mean to bump into you.  Lighten up, eh?”  He walked over and clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, which seemed to startle him.  He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

            “Yes, you’re right.  I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”  Castiel internally winced as he continued.  “I am sorry, Dean.  Today has started stressfully.”  It took all of his energy not to grind his teeth together in frustration.  The last thing he wanted to be doing was apologizing to Dean Winchester.  All he could do was hope that the man’s visit to the Moose was a one-time thing.  His hopes were dashed by his own brother almost immediately after the thought crossed his mind. 

            “Dean here has been looking for a new place to hang and do his writing!  Looks like you won’t be the only writer in these parts anymore, Cassie.”  Dean momentarily considered telling Gabriel that he would be looking for somewhere else to go, but he stopped himself.  He liked the Moose and its enjoyable atmosphere, and he refused to be driven out by one high and mighty prick with delicate sensibilities.  So, he turned a wide smile to Castiel, pleased when he witnessed the man’s facade falter momentarily. 

            “Yeah, I think I am going to be coming here quite a bit. Seems like a perfect place to pen a few bloody firefights and ruthless cowboys with no morality. You know, quality literature.” Dean ended with a saucy wink, gleefully noting how narrow Castiel’s eyes had gotten.  Gabriel found himself highly amused by the scene before him, though he couldn’t quite figure out what he was witnessing.  Castiel and Dean faced off for several moments, each waiting for the other to break.  Finally, Dean spoke up.

            “Well, if you two don’t mind, I’m going to go see about getting some work done.”  With that, he turned and made his way to the far side of the shop, settling into a cozy armchair.  His coffee found a home on a nearby table.  Castiel watched him go, rolled his eyes and turned to his brother, who was watching him.

            “So, what’s the scoop, baby bro?  Seems to me like you and Dean-o already knew each other,” Gabriel commented, leaning back against the counter.

            “I had the unfortunate chance to meet him yesterday at Crowley’s office.  To put it mildly, we did not get along,” Castiel said bitterly, cutting a particularly displeased look across the shop to Dean, who was fiddling with his pen as he considered a page in his notebook.

            “So you had a bad first meeting.  A lot of people don’t get along the first time they meet, bro,” Gabriel said slowly, trying to hide his amusement.

            “He blatantly insulted my work!  It wasn’t even criticism, it was plain insulting.  It’s fair to say that I despise that man as much as I despise his bloody, Western ‘literature.’”  His voice curled around the last word, as if to attempt to shield it from the harm that was Dean’s work.  Castiel pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose again rather aggressively, leaving them somewhat crooked.  Gabriel frowned, reaching forward and straightening them with a brotherly sort of tenderness.

            “My sagely big brother advice--and take this to heart because I don’t give it out often--is to remember that not everyone is as they first appear.”  He smoothed his hands down over Castiel’s narrow shoulders and gave one of his trademark, crooked grins.  “I mean, I’m sure that if you’d been capable of it, you would have hated me when you first met me too.  Luckily for me, you were an infant when we first met.”  Castiel’s expression softened considerably and he found himself smiling faintly.

            “I am quite certain that I could never hate you, Gabriel.  You have the uncanny ability of being both tremendously infuriating but unfailingly likable.  It’s really very annoying, but I put up with it because you’re my brother.” 

            “Oh, you just put up with it, eh?  If you’re just putting up with me, then I guess there’s no reason for me to make you your coffee, is there?”  Gabriel said with a mischievous smirk.  Castiel’s lips immediately fell into a slight pout and his blue eyes went wide at the implication, all of this done quite unconsciously.

            “Woah, woah.  C’mon, don’t give me the puppy dog eyes, you know I wouldn’t do that to you,” Gabriel said with a short bark of a laugh.  He clapped a hand on Castiel’s back.  “Now you head over to your table, I’ll make your usual and bring it over to you.”  Castiel smiled gratefully and slipped out from under his brother’s hand, nodding absently as Gabriel ducked behind the counter.  As he made his way back to his usual table--coincidentally on the opposite side of the shop from Dean--he brooded over the effect Gabriel’s words were having on him.    

            He wanted to despise Dean for the harsh words that he’d spoken about his writing, but Castiel _had_ insulted him first.  He sat down and tossed his binder onto the table before sliding his fingers under his glasses, rubbing his eyes until spots of colour exploded behind his eyelids.  He grumbled incoherently, attempting to find some logical excuse to continue disliking Dean.  It wasn’t in his nature to specifically single someone out to dislike, but something about the rough man rubbed Castiel the wrong way.  Everything from the books he wrote to the overly casual way he did everything to the way he had now decided to nest at the Moose just set Castiel on edge.  He blinked rapidly to clear his eyesight and then cut a glance across the coffee shop to Dean, who was sipping his coffee and leisurely reading through his notebook.

            “You’re staring.”  Gabriel’s sing-song voice startled Castiel.  He whipped his attention from Dean and to his brother, clearing his throat as Gabriel set his coffee down in front of him.

            “I was not,” Castiel responded quickly and defensively, snatching up his coffee.  Gabriel flicked one eyebrow up skeptically at the statement.

            “You’re actually thinking about what I said, aren’t you?”  Gabriel asked as he plopped down in the chair beside Castiel, who was trying his best to ignore his brother, taking a pointed drink of his coffee.  Gabriel folded his hands on the tabletop, waiting patiently.  He knew that the coffee would soften his somewhat uptight little brother.

            Sure enough, moments later, Castiel’s shoulders relaxed and he sighed.  “Perhaps I was a little harsh on him due to the unfortunate circumstances of our first meeting,” he admitted reluctantly.  Gabriel nodded with a small smirk.  Castiel turned his head away, his lips pursed together, staring out the window.  Gabriel slid his little brother’s notebook closer to him, flipping it open, glancing through it innocently, but Castiel didn’t seem to notice.  Eyes gleaming with his own special brand of mischief, Gabriel slipped a small sheaf of written on pages tucked into the inner pocket of the binder.  Folding them neatly in half, he slid them into the deep front pocket of his apron before quietly closing the binder.

            “Well, I’m glad to hear that you’re being open minded, Cassie.”  Castiel turned and shot him a dark look at the nickname that Gabriel promptly ignored.  “I do hope you’ll think about trying again with Dean.  He seems like a pretty swell guy, if you ask me.”  Castiel rolled his eyes, mumbling something under his breath about not having asked Gabriel in the first place.  Gabriel chuckled good humouredly at it.

            “Well, I very much doubt that he wants anything to do with me after our argument yesterday, so I would not hold your breath were I you, Gabriel,” Castiel commented quietly, turning to look outside again, eyes glazing over with thought.  Gabriel nodded slowly, smiling lightly.

            “I better get back to work.  You have fun doing your writing thing, Cassie,” Gabriel said as he got to his feet.  Castiel waved him off absently, obviously mentally removed from the conversation already.  Gabriel slid his hand into his pocket, fingers sliding over the papers he’d stolen, a satisfied smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official Art by **[McBenik](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com)**  
>  ↪ _[Cover](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art) ☁ [Illustration](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
> Official Playlist on **[8tracks](http://www.8tracks.com/conversingconverse/as-the-ink-flows-1)**  
>  ↪ _[Reblog on Tumblr](http://waywardangel.co.vu/post/101323555785/the-playlist-for-two-stubborn-authors-fall-in-love)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **CheshireMoon** (sammylied)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.sammylied.tumblr.com/)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **RexxieConverse** (cascelestial)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.waywardangel.co.vu/) ☁ [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ofmirandalynn)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  _Want more? Check out ****[A Home Beneath The Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135366/chapters/2295273)!_


	3. The Great Gatsby

            Gabriel waved enthusiastically when Castiel left the coffee shop, standing at the counter, waiting a couple minutes to ensure that he’d actually left for good.  Glancing over at Dean and finding him deep into his work, Gabriel smirked and snagged a damp rag to go wipe down Castiel’s now empty table, papers rustling in his pocket. 

            Dean had glanced up briefly when Castiel had left, almost against his will, narrowing his eyes at the dramatic swish of the man’s trench coat.  He shook his head a little to clear it and turned back to his notebook, allowing him to become absorbed in jotting down some ideas that were running around his head.  He jumped a little at the sudden intrusion of Gabriel’s voice.

            “Hey, Dean-o.”  Dean glanced up just as Gabriel dropped into the armchair beside his.  He couldn’t help but smile at the man.  Something about him was just so irrevocably likable despite the disaster that was his brother. 

            “Hey, Gabriel,” Dean responded, setting his notebook down in his lap.  “What’s up?”  Gabriel reached into the pocket of his apron, pulling out some papers that had been folded evenly in half. 

            “I went to clean off my bro’s table after he left and found some papers he’d left behind.  I know he’ll be missing these, and I was wondering if you could give these to him when you come in tomorrow?”  Dean opened his mouth to protest, but seemingly oblivious, Gabriel plowed on.  “Problem is that I know I’ll lose them if I take them home.  Or they’ll end up with mysterious stains that I’m really very certain my baby bro wouldn’t appreciate.”  Gabriel held out the papers to Dean, who snatched them up quickly, horrified by Gabriel’s implications.  Immediately, he wondered what he was doing.  He’d calmed down considerably since their clash meeting at Crowley’s office, that was true, but there was just something about Castiel that really got to him. 

            Gabriel could see the conflict warring across Dean’s features.  “You know, Cassie told me about yesterday.”  Dean glanced up at him, slightly alarmed, hoping that Gabriel didn’t think poorly of him after hearing about the rather explosive argument that had gone on at Crowley’s office.  Fortunately, Dean could find no animosity in the good-humoured man’s expression.

            “Yeah, that was pretty eventful,” Dean commented almost offhandedly.  Most of his anger about his meeting with “Emmanuel” had evaporated.  He still didn’t particularly like the guy, nor could he find much to respect about his writing, but staying pissed as all hell at him when it seemed they would be occupying the same space seemed to be a waste of energy.

            “Yes, well, if I may give a little well-meaning advice, barista to customer?”  Gabriel asked with a lopsided grin.  Dean shrugged and nodded for him to continue.

            “People rarely are what they seem to be when you first meet them.  I know Cassie can be a little... uptight sometimes.  I’ve grown up with the kid.  And honestly, it’s not really up-tightness so much as awkwardness.  He’s never exactly been good with people, but he’s got a good heart.”  Gabriel settled back comfortably into his chair.  His expression had turned to one of fondness as he spoke of his little brother, and Dean felt something reverberate in him as his thoughts inadvertently turned to Sam.  “So, maybe you can try and start over with him.  You two are writers, and yeah, you might not exactly like what the other writes, but you both do the same thing in the long run.  Maybe you have more to talk about than you think.” 

            Gabriel leaned forward with an almost conspiratorial expression, and Dean unconsciously leaned forward slightly as well.  “And just between you and me, this is also a big brotherly ploy to get my little brother a good friend.”  Dean couldn’t help but laugh.  He’d done similar things in the past, when Sam had proven to be a little nerdy loner. 

            “Man, I don’t think your brother wants anything to do with me.   I royally pissed him off yesterday,” Dean responded, leaning back in his chair, running his fingers along the top of his notebook absently.  Gabriel winked cheekily and held the papers out to Dean again.

            “Have a little faith, Dean-o!”  He exclaimed.  Dean rolled his eyes, chuckling quietly at the almost obnoxiously bright man. 

            “You sure are lucky my brother seems to like you, Gabe.”

            “Or what?”  Gabriel asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

            “Or I’ll take you out--”

            “Oh, that’s awfully forward, isn’t it?”

            “--and run you over with my car.”  The two men stared at each other for a few moments before dissolving into rather unmanly bouts of laughter.  Dean couldn’t help but think that it was nice to sit and talk with someone, to sit and laugh with someone.  With each chuckle he felt a little of the tension that had built up in him melt away.

***

           Back at his apartment, Dean has resumed his earlier pacing, trying to ignore the pair of seemingly innocent pages laying atop his battered futon. The quicker of pace that Dean lulled himself into, the more the corners of the pages waved around, inviting the frustrated man to walk over and take just one little peek.

           “Oh, what the hell!” Dean finally exclaimed, ceasing his attempts to create permanent foot scuffs in his carpet to angrily stride over to where the pages now seemed to be fluttering with delight, pleased to be read at last.  He picked up the two leafs of notebook paper, resigning himself to taking a quick glance at the work that Castiel had left behind at the café. “It’s not like reading it will suddenly flood my apartment with holy water from exposure to these holier-than-thou words, right?” Dean said letting out a slight chuckle, turning his eyes down to the neat cursive penned out in front of him.

_“—lost within the obsidian ink that seemed to make up the entirety of his existence. But now, it seemed like the previously mentally exclusive cage had constructed itself in his reality; Benjamin had fallen into the one place that could draw out the darkest memories of his morose past and give him his own personal encore. Everywhere he looked, the scenery molded itself into a piece of his own daily personal nightmares. The trees, part of a dense collection, turned from innocent gentle green giants to bare twiggy affairs, the now sparse branches reaching for him with their knobbed fingers. The ground, which he had been laying on ever since he had fallen into this place, turned from gentle lush grass to prickly low-grown ferns covering a sparse ash-grey dirt forest floor. Benjamin quickly rose, for the ferns had started to form into unforgiving ropes of thorny vines, the appearing ropes searching out for him as if they knew he deserved their pricking and bloodletting for his transgressions. The panicked man wobbled to and fro, attempting to place himself whilst still trying to avoid the continuously growing vines. What kind of place would do this to a man, wring out one’s inner demons and make them a reality in such a twisted manner? There was only one realm Benjamin could fathom, one he had been told tales about through his childhood, one his teachers had always spoke of with hushed tones and fearful reverence._

_Purgatory.”_

            Dean paused in his reading of the drafts, taking in the short excerpt that he had read in an almost breathless manner. He placed the pages back on his futon, arranging them gently in a neat and orderly stack in glaring contrast to the constructed chaos that Dean had stitched together for a living space, the white notebook paper with its neat lilting cursive written across the surface almost glowing in comparison to its surroundings.

            Rubbing his ink-stained fingers over his scruff, Dean groaned in exasperation, not sure of what to do. It was worst than anything he had imagined happening before he broke down a read the damn thing. Dean had expected to be unimpressed by the draft, maybe even have a hearty laugh over the ridiculousness of the surely snotty tale. No, the circumstance he had found himself in was worse.  Way worse.

            “Dammit, I knew I should have punched that guy when I had the chance!” He yelled into the room, the walls echoing back his frustration. Dean turned back to the futon, glaring with all of the hostility he could muster. The gall of that man, to actually write something that _intrigued_ Dean, after all of the man’s previous remarks about Emmanuel’s literature being too hoity toity for him, and now, here he was, itching to march back over to those pages and read more about this nefarious dreamscape style reality that Castiel had spun to life with a few strokes of blue ink letters.

            Dean glared at the offending papers for a few more seconds, then dropped his stiff shoulders and lowered his head, choosing to stare in defeat at the strands of his beige carpet currently curled in and around his toes as he stood there. He let out a sigh, slowly plodding over to the sofa across from the futon, letting the cushions of the couch swallow him in. One finger tapping an unknown rhythm, Dean let his thoughts wander back to the conversation he had had with Gabriel before leaving The Caffeinated Moose that evening.

            He really did want to have a less hostile relationship with the man’s brother, truly. Maybe even become friends, if he could pull his head out of his ass long enough not to mess things up, like he always seemed to do whenever he tried to befriend a fellow author. Dean had a knack for offending his fellow writers, whether it be from accidentally mispronouncing an important character’s name and not realizing it, to blatantly telling his unwanted opinions about their work, which he had done with Castiel unintentionally. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, _ever_ , but Dean had always secretly craved a close companionship with another story teller, someone who could hold a conversation about their favourite imagery from the novels they had penned, someone who he could bounce a story idea off off, someone who would actually understand the importance of the wording and structure of the scene he was attempting the write.

            Letting himself sink further into the sofa, Dean pulled at his earlobe, twisting and stretching the skin there as he let himself ponder the issue of a certain trench coat clad author and his literary design. The pages sat patiently in front of him, waiting for the enlightenment that they knew was coming. Dean looked back at them, almost daring them to say a word to him about the whole affair.

            Twist and stretch, twist and stretch--Dean’s fingers sped up with their kneading of his ear as the already resigned man reached the conclusion he knew he would end up with all along. He rose up, away from the sofa and towards the futon, pulling out the pen he always kept in his pocket and giving it a twirl, already itching to do what he had walked over for. Dean picked up the pages from the futon and brought them over to his messy desk, where there was no room currently for a single other page on its surface, already consumed with Kurt’s raging gunslinger bravado and gory justice. Kurt Smith swept all of these stories off of the desktop with one smooth sweep of the arm, the paper whispering with confusion as they wafted down to the ground. In their place, Emmanuel’s beginnings of a nightmarish descent was put. As the pages began to settle below him, Dean pulled out a third blank page and placed it besides the other two, gave his pen one last spin, then began to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official Art by **[McBenik](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com)**  
>  ↪ _[Cover](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art) ☁ [Illustration](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
> Official Playlist on **[8tracks](http://www.8tracks.com/conversingconverse/as-the-ink-flows-1)**  
>  ↪ _[Reblog on Tumblr](http://waywardangel.co.vu/post/101323555785/the-playlist-for-two-stubborn-authors-fall-in-love)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **CheshireMoon** (sammylied)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.sammylied.tumblr.com/)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **RexxieConverse** (cascelestial)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.waywardangel.co.vu/) ☁ [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ofmirandalynn)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  _Want more? Check out ****[A Home Beneath The Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135366/chapters/2295273)!_


	4. Great Expectations

             Castiel strode back into The Caffeinated Moose the morning after his second encounter with Dean. He was already in quite the contrary mood, for no matter where he looked--under his bed, in the cupboard, around his desk, even in the garbage--Castiel could simply not divine the location of the missing pages of his most recent draft. He had called his brother that night after up-heaving his normally spotless townhouse, but the call had not given him anything useful.

            “Dunno, Cassie, I didn’t see any homeless pages floating around my café with your too-perfect cursive scribbled all over it.” Gabriel had said, the sounds of a bolt being turned and the shaking of keys quite loud in the background.

            “But, no fear, I did find this _awesome_ brochure for a new strip club opening down the road under the table right in front of the pastry counter! Who needs a few pages of probably unimportant work when you can have some quality time with the lovely ladies of—“

            “Gabriel, I am not interested in the new den of iniquity you seem to have stumbled upon, as you should well know.” Castiel had collapsed on to his bed at this point, his sweater bunched up  at the hem and his glasses squished uncomfortably between his face and his duvet. He was already exhausted from his thorough search of his home, he was not in the mood to deal with his brother’s antics right at that moment. “I guess I will just…have to rewrite them tomorrow. Which is very unfortunate, as I was quite proud of these particular two…”

            And that is where Castiel was at, sitting down in his usual back corner table at the café as Gabriel handed him his usual morning coffee with a face full of over exaggerated sympathy. A frowny emoticon had been drawn on the surface of the beverage in foam, little dots running down from the left “eye” to make the face appear to be crying. Castiel looked down at the drink, and, in an affectionately grumpy sort of way, stated “I wasn’t aware that it was customary for one’s coffee to be in the same mood as its drinker.”  Gabriel giggled at that, reaching down to tousle his brother’s already messy locks.

            “Figured that your super sugared daily drink should reflect that inner man pain you seem to be feeling from losing your pages, ‘cause we all know how much it _pains_ you to have to write _even more_ than you already do.” Gabriel injected enough sarcasm into his words that Castiel would not be surprised if the words decided to fly out of the energetic man’s mouth and stand with one hand on their hip in front of Castiel to snap in the air at him sassily. “It’s not like all you do already is write, write, and, I don’t know, write some more!” With a blown kiss and a quick turn of the heel, Gabriel strode off to go back to helping his customers, where there were now several people in line in front of the counter.

            Castiel watched his brother prance away, quite touched at Gabriel’s not-so-masked attempt to cheer him up, even if it was buried underneath a mountain of sarcasm, sass, and most likely a glittery unicorn or two. He snorted at this, quite enjoying the mental image he had given himself of his brother being the bottom of a dog--horse?--pile which consisted of a dozen or so shimmering unicorns, covered completely until the only thing he could see of Gabriel was a lone arm waving enthusiastically to be covered with more of the beasts. Too enthralled in his ridiculous fantasy, Castiel did not notice at first that another man had slid in to the seat across from him.  The newcomer in question was attempting to get his attention by awkwardly clearing his throat. The thoughts of dog-piling unicorns quickly drifted away, as his attention was immediately drawn to Dean, who looked almost as confused as he did.

            “Did you just say ‘Gabriel won’t leave them alone, those poor unicorns’?”

            “Ye—No! Well, maybe…”

            “So, no unicorns?”

            “…There may have been a dozen or so.”

            Castiel looked away from Dean’s eyes, turning red from the embarrassing accidental murmuring that Dean had overheard. Dean, however, was trying to hold back his laughter, the hilarity of the word “unicorn” being said in Castiel’s rumbling baritone enough to make him forget he was supposed to be easing his way back into Castiel’s good books.

            “Should I be expecting a new mythical creature in your new book, maybe a couple of rainbows?”

            “Of course, Dean, and I’ll be sure to make sure the rainbow ‘symbolizes some dead saint’ just for your reading pleasure.” Castiel slid in, pleased that now he wasn’t the only one out of the pair now blushing. Dean ran a hand through his short dirty blonde, almost fully brunette, hair in embarrassment, now the one refusing to meet the other’s eyes.  

            “Yeah, well, I guess I should apologize for that, it wasn’t professional of me at all. Guess dead saints aren’t too bad after all, ‘specially if you have a rainbow to spruce them up.”

             Castiel smiled at this, nodding slightly to indicate that he had accepted Dean’s apology.  “I should apologize as well, I should not have been so volatile nor been so rude with my opinions. Though I do not recommend using rainbows to ‘spruce up’ your gore.” Castiel smiled slightly. “The end result might be too disturbing for even your readers.”

             Dean outright laughed at this, his head thrown back and his shoulders shaking. Surprised by his exuberant reaction to his attempt at humour, Castiel merely stared at the man still laughing across from him, noting how the light seemed to be catching to every single hair in Dean’s scruff, making it have a golden glow from the angle his head was tilted at. Crinkles had appeared in the corner of Dean’s eyes, which showcased the already apparent laughter lines framing his facial features. He again was drawn towards the freckles, dots of different shapes and sizes spattered across his nose and cheeks to perfectly accentuate the obviously handsome features Dean’s face seemed to be made of.

             “I have put a lot of pretty disturbing scenes in my books, but rainbow guts may be pushing the envelope a bit much, yeah.” Dean wiped away a tear that had formed in his right eye, not sure himself why he found the remark so hilarious. “But I look forward to your rainbow saints, Cas.”

             Castiel started at the nickname, not knowing how to react to this new fondness from the person he once despised. If he had ever truly despised Dean...  His feelings towards the green-eyed man were confusing, to say the least. Not noticing his own remark nor noticing Cas’ reaction to it, Dean reached down to pull out his folder out of the messenger bag laying at his feet, the strap now tangled around the leg of the chair from Dean shaking his chair with his laughter.

             “Speaking of new books, I have something of yours that your brother wanted me to give you.” As Dean opened the folder, Castiel immediately recognized his handwriting on pages within. Gasping with surprise, Cas hurriedly pulled the pages out of the pocket, not waiting for Dean to give them to him himself. He skimmed over the pages, feeling a buzz of excitement over now being able to pen the continuation of the scenes instead of having to waste precious time to rewrite the lost draft. Dean, recovering from his shock of Cas simply taking back his pages with a quick _yoink_ , pulled out one other page from the back of the other pocket, placing it on the table face down.

             “I called Gabriel last night and he said that he couldn’t find the pages, I was up almost the whole night looking for them!” Castiel turned slightly in his chair to glare at Gabriel, who was quickly resuming his task of cleaning the counter with an already dirty rag.  He was definitely _not_ secretly spying on his brother and his brother’s new boy toy and giggling with delight at how well his plan seemed to be working.

             “Anyways, thank you very much for returning these to me, Dean. You have really saved me a lot of time.”  Cas looked back at Dean, pushing his glasses up once more with his index finger, as they had moved down his nose when he had almost jumped across the table to retrieve his pages. Dean followed the movement of Cas’ finger, watching as the man slowly pushed them up the bridge of his nose, twitching the frames slightly to straighten them so his oh so blue eyes could peer through the glasses unobstructed.

             Shaking himself from his unplanned intense observation session—what even was that? — Dean turned over the piece of paper he had pulled out, drawing Cas’ attention to Dean’s own messy scrawl across the page.

             “So, I may have read those pages.”

             “Oh, really? Not too bad, I hope?”

            “Nope, not at all.  I mean, not bad at all for you.” Dean quickly back peddled, not wanting to give Cas the satisfaction of saying his writing was anything more than mediocre. Castiel was still surprised that Dean had even taken the time to look over the pages, let alone like them in any manner. Fidgeting with the paper in front of him, Dean hesitantly spoke once more.

            “I, uh, even made some notes and stuff to possibly help with the whole Purgatory thing.” He took the pen out of his pocket and began tapping it nervously on the corner of the table. “It was a pretty cool sounding concept and all, just thought you might want a fellow writer’s opinion since it is quite a huge element to be working with.”  Eyes wide, Cas’ looked back down at the page laying in front of Dean, the paper which he now knew was filled with comments the nervous man had taken the time to make about his little passage, even though it was not the type of book Dean would normally take the time to glance over. A fluttering of sorts started to overcome his stomach, a light feeling started to bear down heavily on all of his limbs. It was a feeling that Castiel was not sure he wanted to feel, especially since he knew where this particular affliction led him.

            Dean continued to tap his pen incessantly on the edge of the table, made even more nervous by Cas’ blank reaction to his news.  Cas continued staring at the page of notes with a wide eyed, unreadable expression. He started pulling the page back to put the paper back in his folder, not wanting to offend the man even further.

             “I’ll just, you know, recyc—“

            For the second time, Castiel reached across the table and, with an almost unearthly speed, snatched the paper away from Dean’s hands.

            “I would love to read your thoughts, really.” Not noticing Dean’s immediate expression of utter relief, Castiel quickly turned his attention towards the notes Dean had taken the time to write out for him.

            _Hmm, I wonder what Dean thought of the flexible scenery, and—wait. Wait one moment. He can’t have, no._

            Dean watched Castiel’s face closely, looking for any hints on what the man thought of his comments. To his utter horror, he watched as Cas’ temperament slowly seeped from an almost boyish excitement to a moody disbelief.

            “What exactly do you mean by ‘add a bit more light to balance the dark’, Dean?” Cas had looked up from the paper, his eyes flashing with something that Dean could not immediately identify. “Did you not read the selection, and did you not notice that the whole point of this scene was to impose an _utterly dark_ theme?”

            Insulted by the insinuation that he did not comprehend Cas’ work, Dean snatched back the paper out of Cas’ hands, shaking silently with an anger.

            “You mean, I didn’t catch the fact that you wrote something that will cause the reader to be so depressed that they would rather off themselves than finish your book? Yeah, I think I caught that bit, hence my note.”  Dean’s voice rose higher than he had intended, causing the couple sitting at the table closest to them to turn away from the croissant they had been sharing to watch the drama starting to unfold.

            “Well, seeing as the reasoning for writing that scene was to fully describe the bleakness of the situation Benjamin has found himself in, then that level of depression was a success!” Castiel yelled back, standing up in affront at the insult to a piece he was highly proud of. Rising to meet him in confrontation, Dean yelled right back, unaffected by the attention they were starting to gather from the entire establishment.

            “So, what you are basically saying is that I am too dumb to properly comprehend your oh-so-majestic work, is that it?”

            “From those so called ‘notes’ you gave me, I have no other option than to infer that conclusion!”

            Dean and Castiel were now face to face, having moved away from the table in favor of standing beside it in order to invade the other’s personal space as much as humanly possible. Gabriel, abandoning his counter, waded through the throng of gawking customers waiting in line to place their order to wedge himself between the two enraged authors, throwing a forced smile at the both of them.

            “Now, now, you two, I can’t have you fighting over who the prettiest girl is in the middle of my café! Not to mention, this is kinda right in the middle of my morning rush?” Gabriel shrugged his shoulders in the direction of his currently quite full Caffeinated Moose, watching Castiel and Dean take in the curious looks being cast in their direction. Letting the hurt and anger bleed out of him with a low sigh, Castiel lowered himself back into his seat, not looking either man in the eye. Dean remained standing, but seemed to be more embarrassed about the scene he had had a hand in causing than worried about what he should be doing to resolve the situation.

            “Okay, now that I don’t have to worry about a possible down and dirty mud wrestling match going down, I’m going to go back to doing my, I dunno, job?” Gabriel shot both Cas and Dean a look, which somehow portrayed all of his irritation but still managed to be a goofy face, before heading back to deal with his growing line of customers. Castiel rubbed one hand down the side of his face, flattening a bit of his bangs in the process. He was quite ashamed of his behavior as well as the overly confrontational manner in which he had reacted to Dean’s notes.  The man had only intended to aid him in furthering the effectiveness of his scene, but Cas had ended up yelling at him for all of his efforts.  He uncovered his face to apologize to Dean, but opened his eyes to find him walking briskly to an open table at the opposite end of the café, determinedly avoiding all available chintz chairs and plaid beanbags that were also glaringly open. Cas watched him reach his destination, watched as he unslung his bag from his shoulder, watched as he pulled out his navy blue folder once more. Dean never looked back once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official Art by **[McBenik](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com)**  
>  ↪ _[Cover](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art) ☁ [Illustration](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
> Official Playlist on **[8tracks](http://www.8tracks.com/conversingconverse/as-the-ink-flows-1)**  
>  ↪ _[Reblog on Tumblr](http://waywardangel.co.vu/post/101323555785/the-playlist-for-two-stubborn-authors-fall-in-love)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **CheshireMoon** (sammylied)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.sammylied.tumblr.com/)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **RexxieConverse** (cascelestial)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.waywardangel.co.vu/) ☁ [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ofmirandalynn)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  _Want more? Check out ****[A Home Beneath The Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135366/chapters/2295273)!_


	5. War & Peace

            The week after their little scuffle, neither Dean nor Cas had made the effort to speak to the other. After sitting at his new table for a little while that day, replaying the fight first in little snippets, then as a whole ugly scene, Dean couldn’t believe he had reacted with as much vehemence as he did. He had stirred his coffee with a chewed straw until the drink was cold, too distracted to write even a single sentence. If Dean had received a page of notes where the writer had not grasped his entire reasoning for a scene, then he probably would have thrown the page back in their face, but not before dumping the entire contents of both his coffee and his ink cartridge. On second thought, not the ink.  That shit was too nice to be wasted on a new design for some poor bastard’s shirt.

            And that is how they have ended up there, still on opposite sides of Gabriel’s café, neither wanting to acknowledge the other’s existence in order to bury their own shame.

            Gabriel watched the two of them through the window from the kitchen, able to see both tables through the wide framed glass. There was only so many sneaky glances and gloomy auras a man could take, and he had reached that point. Yelling to his baking staff that he was going to be back in a few, Gabriel slid out the back door into the delivery alleyway right outside. He crouched over, half crab walking half scooting over to behind the delivery balcony a few feet to the left of the door in a faux secret agent gait. Chuckling at his own antics, Gabriel slid his iPhone out of his front jean pocket and dialed the first contact on his favourite list.

            “You do realize that I am at the office, right?” An exasperated yet fond male voice warbled out of the phone speaker. Gabriel couldn’t help but let a teensy grin invade his face, but quickly went back to the faux-serious mask that he had been holding up, despite no one being in the alley with him.

            “Aww, big and fluffy is so dedicated to his job! Me likey, me likey.” The voice on the other line sighed, another voice telling the man that he has a 10 o’ clock appointment in the background.

            “Look Gabe, I would love to talk right now, but I do have some work to do. Did you have a reason for calling so early?”

            “As it would happen, I do have a reason. It’s about luuurve.” Gabriel lowered his voice at that last word, drawing out the syllables as long as he could, warbling his inflection the longer he did.

            “If this is about—“ the man began to whisper “—you wanting a morning blowjob every day, I’ve told you that I am not sacrificing my shower for that!” A wolfish smile appeared on Gabriel’s face at this statement.

            “As much as I would love to take this time to point out all of the great benefits of changing your position on that issue, I unfortunately must concede my pleasure for the sake of bringing my brother some.” Gabriel winced at his poor wording right after he said it, the man on the phone made a gagging noise.

            “Dude, I knew you had some kinks, but I think that is going—“

            “I didn’t mean it that way, you big perv! I meant that I needed help setting him up with someone else!”

            “God, that sounds better. Still weird, but better.” Chuckling, Gabriel quickly told him all about Cas and Dean, as well as the specifics of the fight that had caused them to have a gap between them once more.

            “You think you can help me here, Mr. Big Brain?”

            “I think calling me was your smartest move yet.”

***

            “Gah, damn it!” Dean’s messenger bag strap had broken as he took it off his shoulder to place in the passenger seat of the Impala. It dropped to the sidewalk outside of his apartment with a strange sense of grace, the bag tumbling off of the curb and under the classic car in a smooth cart wheeling motion. Grumbling to himself, Dean bent down to retrieve the bag, only to find that it had fallen open, all of the loose pencils and pens and papers inside scattered around everywhere on the asphalt underneath. He quickly collected all of the remnants of his now ruined bag, and hit his head on the rear-view mirror whilst standing up.

            “What next, is a damn anvil going to drop on my head?” Dean cursed to the sky as he walked over to open the driver’s door, chucking the stack in his arm onto the seat next to him. Nothing seemed to be going right for him lately, everything seemed to be breaking, his story seemed to rebelling against its creator, and, the most infuriating thing of all, he couldn’t seem to take his mind off of a certain stupid author with his stupid billowing trench coat, stupid knitted sweaters, stupid chic glasses, and the most _maddening_ atmospheric blue eyes he had ever seen.

            No matter how many times he tried to drag his head back to solely focusing on the lone adventurer Aiden and his sleek black mane, he found himself wandering back to Cas, the one person that simultaneously irritated him beyond compare, yet intrigued him to the point of almost insane curiosity. The man was not like anyone he had ever met before, writer or otherwise. Appearing to be distant and cold at first, Castiel proved himself to be extremely caring to those he got close to, he saw that much in the way that he interacted with his brother and with some of the frequent customers of The Caffeinated Moose that liked to stop by his table to see how his writing was going. He obviously had a great amount of passion for his work, as demonstrated by his reaction to Dean’s page. The argument that caused them to be distant once more had also become the event that showcased the trait in Cas’ that Dean now respected the most.

            Dean shook his head violently, putting his baby into gear before he could waste any more time pondering the damn man. He pulled away from the curb, leaving any Cas related thoughts on the sidewalk.

***

            Castiel watched as the remaining dregs of his coffee swirl around in the bottom of his mug, picking out images as the grounds rearranged themselves in the leftover liquid. A prancing antelope, a jubilant dancing banana, a handsome face with the most attractive constellation of freckles—oh, for the love of all things holy, not again. He took the offending mug back up to the counter hastily, placing it in front of a slightly alarmed busboy.

            “Wash it now, before the freckles ensnare you too.” The boy slowly nodded, peering into the cup curiously once Cas left to go sit at his table once more. He shifted the cup around, making the dregs move around again. The poor boy didn’t see any freckles, but that sure was the finest coffee ground alien giraffe he had ever seen.

            Back to the comfort of his corner, Castiel picked up the latest page he had just written, rereading what he had been writing before his coffee had decided to torment him.

_Benjamin crawled down the tree he had climbed the night previous, away from the false sanctuary he had woven out of branches and false hope. Like he had expected, right as his filthy feet touched the sparse ground, the vines came crawling back, the thorns scritch-scratching the grey floor of this realm as the proceeded forward towards their latest victim. They seemed to feed off of his terror, the more fear he felt in his heart, the faster the vines seemed to reach him, curling up around his toes to better climb the man’s legs. Benjamin sunk down to the ground, all of the slight happiness he had concocted for himself in his nest for the night quickly receding into the ink black marsh that was his mind. He laid down, resigning himself to the feeling of absolute misery as the thorns slowly began to tattoo his skin._

            Castiel dropped the paper back down on the table top with a low sigh, letting his pen fall out of his fingers as he moved them to rub at the lens of his glasses. His hasty rubbing led to fingerprints all over his glasses, so he lowered them down to his dark green sweater--the color just happened to match the exact shade of Dean’s eyes, it was merely a coincidence, of course it was--to rub them clean. Right as he had finished with both lenses, a car with a very noisy engine roared by, the owner seemingly revving their vehicle as much as they possibly could for the 200 feet it took them to drive from the stoplight, past the café, and to a parking spot a few blocks down, right across from a busy New York subway station. The car was some black muscular classic affair, and it seemed to frequent the street every morning.

            Cas bent back over his writing, jamming his glasses back on so that he could re-read the passage again. The words simply were not coming, no matter how much Castiel pleaded with them. There were simply too many distractions. His coffee, his glasses, Dean.  Always Dean. That man simply was the biggest possible distraction to ever float into his life, and he had lived in the same house as Gabriel for his whole childhood, so he was well-versed in all forms of distraction. No matter how many days passed, he could not  shake the guilt over his actions that last argument between himself and his colleague. Cas had even unintentionally taken his advice, as giving his hero a small bit of hope had actually furthered his dark spinnings, as taking it away had hurt Benjamin more than not having any hope at all.

            The door to The Caffeinated Moose opened, but instead of the usual business man dropping in for his morning fix, the man Castiel was currently fixating on walked on through, unaware of how the appearance of him in all of his ratty jean and flannel glory had effected the man seated in the corner. Dean sauntered over to the counter, exchanged a few words and jokes with Gabriel, then walked over to his table to wait for the arrival of his usual Van Halen. Cas observed all of this as sneakily as he could, as this had become his daily routine. Write a word or two, watch Dean, write a few more words, watch Dean, add a sentence, watch Dean. It really was affecting his work, Becky had called him more than a few times demanding that he bring in his latest chapter as soon as he could, or she would force him to sit through another Madoka Magica marathon. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he didn’t have a chapter to share, or that he really could not stand to watch another episode of that dreaded shoujo anime.

            Where the words for his story would not come, Castiel found that the descriptors for the green-eyed author never ceased to flow. He drowned himself in metaphors and similes, beautiful monologues and scenery that would best bring out the hidden ginger tone in the man’s entrancing hair.

            Cas’ let his head fall down with a violent thunk, having reminded himself what he had realized three days after their fight from his studious observations of all things Dean. No matter how hard he tried, Castiel could not stop himself from beginning to fall for the man he was supposed to be at odds with. The more he saw of Dean feverishly scribbling out a passage, the broad smile he broke out into whenever a draft worked out correctly, the over exaggerated scowl that he pulled on when he was displeased with his work, his offering to help Gabriel serve his large tray of drinks, making up the excuse that he needed a break anyway when Cas saw him clearly enthused about his current passage a few seconds earlier. Castiel was, as his brother would say, royally screwed.

           Furiously shoving his fingers through his nest of hair, he raised his head slowly, looking through the corner of his eye at the man in his usual table across the café. To his utter surprise, he found a pair of forest green eyes connecting with his own. Dean snapped his head back to look out the window on his other side, his ears turning such a bright pink that Castiel could see the shade easily from across the building.

          Gabriel, having noticed this little exchange, hurried over to Dean’s table, placing his usual beverage right in front of the red faced man, pairing his delivery with the biggest shit eating grin a human could muster.

          “See something you like there, Dean-o?” He dropped a wink, flustering Dean even more than he already was.

          “I was, uh, just, er, what are you talking about?” Dean garbled out, hoping Gabriel did not mean what he was pretty sure he meant. Placing on the most innocent mask he had at his disposal, Gabriel looked right at Dean.

          “I was simply talking about the foam art I put on your Van Halen today.” He pointed down to the beverage. “See, a llama!”

          Dean quickly looked down, seeing that the man had indeed deemed his drink in need of a foam llama.

          “Oh, yeah man, llamas are pretty cool animals. Alpacas are the greener animal though, according to my brother.” Dean stared at Gabriel’s tray balanced on his hip instead of his face, willing his ridiculous blush to fade away before Gabriel could comment on it.

          “My boyfriend said the exact same thing to me too! How funny!” Gabriel flipped the tray off of his hip with an exaggerated twirl, watching with amused interest as Dean’s eyes seemed to dedicate themselves to following the item wherever it went. With one last flip, Gabriel left the man to delude himself into further denial in favour of tending to the apple tartletes currently toasting away in the oven.

***

          Was Dean also doing the exact thing he had been doing, sneaking sly glances and stealing snippets of conversation he was a part of?  Castiel had been asking himself this question over and over for the last hour, too distracted by the image of green eyes and pink ears to concentrate on anything else. His story lay desolate on the table, resigning itself to be patient yet again as its author seemed to have his thoughts elsewhere once more.

          Castiel paced back in forth in his mind, attempting to steel himself so that he could walk over there, plop himself down, and solve their issues like adults. He really wasn’t that great at treating things as a mature adult should though, he knew this. His lack of social skills deemed him “awkward” and “unreachable” by the majority of others, so he had not had a lot of experience in interacting with others. Castiel also noticed that the behavior of an almost childlike demeanor seemed to be common amongst writers, as they started putting their fictional worlds before the real one, rejecting reality as they knew it and forming their behaviour to preserve the wonder and wistfulness that was rarely apparent in this world. Cas often found himself thinking these very things, wishing he could turn his life into a book so that he could be a scribe of wondrous tales as easily as he could choose to be an angel of the Lord, if he so chose.

         He turned to look at Dean once more, as he had done so many times previous in the last week, but this time, he did not see him as an unreachable obstacle distanced from him via the cruel confinements that were the bindings of dithering social dilemmas. He saw a story, begging to be continued, having been cruelly interrupted by the obstinate writers block of the authors of their tale. Cas saw a novel that need to be completed, whether it ended in over bounding joy or unspeakable anguish.  Determined to cast off the shackles that had bound him to his table in the corner, Castiel rose from his seat in one smooth motion, strode past the writers block and over to the table where one special character was waiting for its next narrative.

***

         Dean was calmly sipping his almost completed coffee, staring down at his folder blankly as he kept persuading himself over and over to not glance at the corner. It really didn’t help that the navy blue was starting to shift over to a very familiar ocean blue, the color dancing across his vision in a gleeful little dance.

         A loud squeak of a chair brought him out of his thoughts, making Dean look up immediately to see who was moving the chair opposite him. The very same ocean blue he was decidedly _not_ thinking about was waiting for him, a determined edge in the midst of the striking color.

         “Hello, Dean.”

         The rough voice he also had _not_ been imagining in the privacy of his own wandering thoughts on a daily basis spoke these words in a calm tone, as if the owner had no idea how much he had shaken Dean by his abrupt appearance. Placing his coffee down so he didn’t do something as stupid as spill droplets all over himself again, Dean continued to keep up the stare that the neither of them seemed to think needed to end.

        “Well, uh, hello there Cas. How ya’ been?” Dean winced at the overly cheerful tone his voice had taken.

        “Seeing as I have spent the last week or so contemplating our argument constantly, attempting to figure out a way to properly apologize for the inappropriate behavior on my behalf in regards to my reaction to your thoughtful notes, I have not been as well as I could have been.” Castiel stated bluntly, not looking ashamed at all about what he had just laid on the man across from him. Dean just continued to stare back at him, speechless, unsure of how he was expected to reply to such a straightforward answer.

        “As I have spent so long contemplating our fight, it also led me to thinking about your suggestions in regards to my novel. Your comment about adding hope was correct, as it immensely aided to make it darker. Having hope and then mercilessly taking it away is very effective.” If that admission wasn’t enough to completely stun Dean to the point where he was wondering if Cas packed a taser with his words, the next comment floored him to the point of figurative electrocution.

       “You certainly are a very intelligent man, Dean Winchester, I just didn’t take the time to read your advice and translate it into my own way of thinking. Thank you.” Castiel, looking as if a huge weight had been retrieved from off of his appendages, folded his hands together under his chin, resting his head while watching Dean for a reaction to his words.  Dean couldn’t help but find himself unnerved by the ethereal blue eyes staring at him over the rim of Cas’ glasses.

       Dean flicked his gaze everywhere, from Cas’ whirlwind raven hair to his grey pinstriped tie, still trying to process the comments now thrown at him. The whole week, they had both been seriously replaying their confrontation over to themselves, but were too afraid to do anything to fix it, settling themselves into their familiar roles of narrators instead of being the characters for once.  It was this realization that made Dean speak, that forced Dean to be a character and put his fate in the hands of his unseen storyteller.

       “We are both huge fucking idiots, Cas, and don’t you try to deny it.” Castiel lifted his head from his hands, way too pleased to be hearing his nickname coming out of Dean’s mouth once again.  His stomach did a little turn, first at the nickname, then at the implication behind Dean’s words.

       “Are you saying that you have been doing something similar this whole time?”  Cas asked, trying and failing to keep hope from leaking into his words.

       “Hell yes, though I haven’t been a yippy sap and mooned over it every second of the damn day,” Dean blatantly lied, not wanted to give away the breadth of his ponderance over their issue, as Cas so easily admitted.  

       “Hmm, I did stop thinking about it whenever that extremely loud car drove past, so I guess it wasn’t every second,” Cas replied in a jokingly innocent manner, gleeful beyond compare over the fact that he was there again, exchanging in pleasant banner with the man with the freckles that seem to follow him wherever he looked.  His excitement was beyond measure, and he idly wondered if Dean was as joyful as he.

       Dean, excited about the prospect of talking about his baby with Cas, latched onto the tidbit about a car.

       “It didn’t happen to be a gorgeous, black ‘67 Impala, did it?”  Making a face, Castiel nodded.

       “I don’t know if it is named after a woodland animal, but it is one of those classic cars, yes.  Oh, the words I wish I could have with the driver!  They rev the engine over and over for no apparent reason, probably burning all of their gas in one go.” Castiel continued enthusiastically, unaware of how Dean’s face had fallen at his words.

       “Driving a newer, more energy efficient car is surely the way to go. Plus, they have really nice open sunroofs, so one doesn’t feel so confined in the metal frame of a motor vehicle. It tends to—“

       “I am the one who drives that Impala,” Dean interjected in a soft voice.

       Castiel immediately froze, slowly lowering his arms that had been previously gesticulating about sunroofs. His wide eyes met Dean’s once again, except the green did not seem so inviting this time.  Dean’s expression was far more closed off. The green-eyed man gathered up the papers covering the table’s surface, slowly placing the tattered remains of his bag on top as Castiel attempted to stammer out his apologies.

       “It’s okay Cas, you didn’t know, and you don’t have to like the same things I do.” Dean forced a smile onto his face, trying his utmost not to snap at the man who was so obviously contrite for his slip. That was why he was choosing to leave.  He didn’t want to mess up all of the progress the two had just made by arguing over his silly car.  

       Dean was given mental pause at the realization that he had called his baby “silly”. They were officially in the Twilight zone now. Before he could do something as stupid as offer to give away the Impala to get a more fuel efficient car or some other equally messed up shit, Dean hurried past the still stammering Castiel towards the front door, mentally flipping through all of the psychiatrists that he knew of within a five mile radius of his apartment, because he obviously required their services immediately.

      Cas watched the man go with a heavy heart, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat.  Meanwhile, Gabriel watched the two part from behind the counter, uttering a long suffering groan that earned him a strange glance or two.  He ignored them all and scrubbed the counter, irritated and exasperated beyond belief by the two air-headed authors.

      “It just _had_ to be my cafe,” he muttered darkly at the rag in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official Art by **[McBenik](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com)**  
>  ↪ _[Cover](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art) ☁ [Illustration](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
> Official Playlist on **[8tracks](http://www.8tracks.com/conversingconverse/as-the-ink-flows-1)**  
>  ↪ _[Reblog on Tumblr](http://waywardangel.co.vu/post/101323555785/the-playlist-for-two-stubborn-authors-fall-in-love)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **CheshireMoon** (sammylied)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.sammylied.tumblr.com/)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **RexxieConverse** (cascelestial)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.waywardangel.co.vu/) ☁ [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ofmirandalynn)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  _Want more? Check out ****[A Home Beneath The Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135366/chapters/2295273)!_


	6. Fangirl

            “I’ll be expecting you on my porch tomorrow night, in full cosplay, ready for a Madoka Magica marathon!” Becky shrilled excitedly into the phone, failing miserably at seeming disappointed in the fact that Castiel had failed to hand over the latest chapter of his novel to her by the deadline.

            “…I accept your terms, except I absolutely refuse to put on a tutu and ribbons to watch an anime with you.” Castiel’s gravelly voice intoned, emotionless and inflectionless. Becky cried out in mock horror, placing a hand on her dramatically heaving chest.

            “How could you insult the mastery of this animation by not donning its traditional garb?”  She demanded in a haughty, offended voice, pulling her phone away from her ear long enough to glare at it.

            “I will speak with you later if you have nothing more to say on the matter of my punishment. Thank you for your time, Becky.” Castiel, or the Casbot, as Becky had just dubbed this version of her client, said right before hanging up. The agent looked back down at her phone, feeling very betrayed.

            “Yeah, I know you are all stuffed full of all those sexy frustrated feelings about Freckle Boy, but there was no need for that!” Becky pursed her lips at her phone, talking to it in a voice that made it sound like someone was squishing her cheeks together. After giving the device one last resentful look, she unlocked the phone to dial her fellow agent-in-crime.

            “Lemme guess, your boy was late with his drafts too.” Charlie said matter-of-factly right as she picked up. Becky let out a dreamy sigh before responding.

            “Yes, Castiel seems to be spending every last moment he has pining after his true love, the mysterious man with the spatter of freckles. It’s so _romantic_! **”** Becky could almost hear the agonizingly slow rolling of the eyes Charlie gave to her statement.

            “Okay, first thing, I don’t think Dean even falls into the realm of ‘mysterious’, way to mislabel a character, Beck,” Charlie responded.

            “You’re right, you’re right, Dean totally is more of the kind and loyal prince type, just waiting for—“

            “Second thing!”  Charlie interjected loudly, promptly cutting her friend off before she was forced through a chokingly, disgustingly sweet monologue about her client.  “The reason that Castiel is ‘pining’ is because he probably thinks Dean hates him again for insulting his car.” Becky brought her hand up to her mouth with a loud gasp, eyes comically wide.

            “Castiel didn’t shit talk the Impala, did he? Oh god, how are we going to fix that?” Flailing around her studio apartment, Becky landed herself in front of her shelf full of harlequin romance novels, ready to do some extreme research to aid what was surely a dire situation.  Cheap, paperback romance novels always had an answer for an impossible romantic problem.  Always.

            “No, that’s the thing, there isn’t a problem, according to mine.” Charlie sounded awed as she relayed this information, and Becky felt a little wowed herself.

            “If Castiel insulted the Impala, then how is there not a problem with Dean?”  She demanded, disbelieving.

            “Here’s the thing. I just got off the phone with Dean a couple minutes before you called.  I had to talk to him about his lack of drafts apparating onto my doorstep, right?” Becky nodded along, even though she knew Charlie would not be able to see.

            “So, instead of groveling at my feet, apologizing for letting his new-found over appreciation for guys in trench coats and sweaters, he goes on the rant about how he was ‘such a dumbass to walk out on Cas for trash talking my car’ and ‘he really would hate me now, if I didn’t have a doubt before this.’” Shoving her fist in her mouth to hush the squeals attempting to escape, Becky held herself back to let her friend finish.

            “Basically, Dean was derailing himself over the fact that he thinks Cas—still so cute, that nickname—hates him over walking out after their conversation about the Impala.  He swears up and down that there’s no way he’ll ever be able to face Cas again after what happened.” Charlie finished breathlessly, eager to hear Becky’s reaction. Said agent was currently busy excitedly pummeling the cushions of the sofa sitting across from her bookshelf with the fist previously placed in her mouth.  

            “ _You basically got a love confession out of Dean Freaking Winchester, Charlie_!”  Becky screamed with all of the gusto her fangirl self could muster, causing Charlie to have to pull her phone away from her ear hastily.

            “You better believe it! We all knew the day that Dean chose someone over his baby is the day that we should all expect an exciting announcement in the form of an invitation in our mail.”  Unable to contain herself any longer, Charlie let herself say those words in a voice that even Becky’s high falsetto would be jealous of. Becky simply squealed along with her, their voices resonating in a strange sort of impromptu matchmaking anthem.  As soon as they could calm themselves enough to speak somewhat normally, Becky was off, talking a hundred miles an hour once again.

            “What’s our plan now? Shove them in a closet and lock it? Sneak a pair of handcuffs onto the both of their wrists? Invest in some superglue, tell the both of them it’s liquid chap stick, then shove their faces together?” Becky listed, delving into her extensive knowledge of fanfiction and the pairing methods used there.

            “No, no, Becky, we can’t lose our heads now. Remember, we have that coffee thing that our other conspirator let us in on?” Charlie reminded in a conspiratorial tone, back to her usual I’m-totally-calm-unless-Katie-McGrath-happens-to-pass-by self.  Nodding slowly, Becky stopped punching the cushions to draw small circles into them with her pointer finger.

            “Yeah, that Gabriel guy that called the both of us did set up a great plan, along with whoever his mysterious boyfriend is.”  Becky said all in one breath.  Personally she thought “that Gabriel guy” was some sort of mischievous angel sent straight from Heaven to answer Becky and Charlie’s wishes and prayers for their insufferably emotionally constipated clients.

            “We get to meet them tomorrow, as well as toy with our boys a little, all while enjoying the benefits of his little plan.” Charlie smirked, ready to be a part of this dastardly--not really, but it heightened the drama to think of it as such--plan.

            “I have to go get some sleep to prepare myself, my brain is too weak currently to be able to process a single longing stare, let alone a marshy swamp of sexual tension that is sure to be present,” Becky gushed into the phone, having flopped onto her back atop all of her pillows.

            “I’ll let you off then, sweet dreams, my friend!”  Charlie said, a smile in her voice.

            “Oh, they will be the opposite of sweet, let me tell you,” Becky corrected her with a smirk that Charlie could practically hear in her voice.

            “…once again, way too much info there, Beck.”

 

***

           Dean pulled into his usual parking space a block away from The Caffeinated Moose, parallel parking between an older Honda Civic and a pricey Tesla. Quite surprised to see the sidewalk already filled up so far up the road with parked cars, Dean looked up and down the road, seeing if he could spot some balloons or a sign saying there was a party nearby. Since the café was situated in a more industrial part of New York, there never were that many parked cars that early in the morning, usually only delivery trucks and cabbies using the road as a shortcut to their busier destinations littered this street combined with the few customers of The Moose.

          Pulling out his duffle bag, which was the only piece of luggage he owned that could even pass as a replacement for his ruined messenger bag for a couple of days, he walked down to the entrance of The Caffeinated Moose, only to find the usually calm brick exterior bustling with activity, a line of people swinging out of the door and curving to fit on to the sidewalk. Dean confusedly stared at the unusually sizable crowd piling up outside of the café.

         “Dean-o! Cassie pie! Glad you could make it!” Gabriel waved, squeezing his way through the entry door frame without waiting for his customers to move aside.

         “We always come here Gabriel, of course we would ‘make it’ here today.” A deep voice Dean would know anywhere called from right behind his left ear. Jumping a few inches off the ground, Dean whirled around, getting an immediate eyeful of a man whose features he knew by now almost as well as his own.  He swallowed sharply, forcing down his emotions before he spoke.

         “Dude, you need a bell or something!” Castiel gave Dean a cool look, giving nothing away with his expression. Cas had spent all night thinking up his strategy on how to face Dean the next morning, and he had found that keeping up a non-reactive, straight exterior would serve him best as he did not want to upset Dean further with a frivolous comment, or appear too eager to be close to the man. The last time he apologized immediately to Dean, Castiel ended up being too comfortable, which led him into yet another mess. He didn’t want to be stuck not being able to converse with Dean again, so he decided to go with this safe option.

         “I believe a bell would become annoying to the people around me, so I’ll just endeavor to make more noise when standing behind someone.”

         Dean took a closer look at the man, noticing how stiff he seemed to be holding himself, and how he had taken any and all emotion in his words and diced them out, almost as if he was running his dialogue through a sieve before saying it aloud. So, he really was mad at Dean. He lowered his gaze to the ground, suddenly very interested in the swirling patterns of gravel that were spinning under and around his beat up boots.

         Gabriel watched this whole interaction with a gleam in his eye, feeling as if he could scoop the sexual tension between the two and serve Sexual Tension Ice Cream with Longing Stare Sauce to all of his customers. Loudly clapping his hands together to startle Dean and Cas out of the separate reveries the two has seemed to sink into, he grabbed both of their arms so he could drag them into the entry, through the crowd, and directly to the counter.

         “Kevin, if you could be oh so kind enough to take these strapping young gentlemen’s orders, that would be quite spiffing of you!” Gabriel said in a sing song voice, badly impersonating an English accent as he did so. Kevin, the teenage boy that Dean had seen a couple times before in the kitchen helping manage the ovens, looked over from the customer he had just finished taking an order from, looking exasperated with Gabriel’s antics.

         “You really need to learn how to do a better British accent than that, man, I’m feeling some intense second hand embarrassment just from hearing that.” Gabriel simply trotted off with a small smirk, going back in the long line to take orders manually on a miniature notebook he had whisked out of his back pocket.

         “What is up with this huge ass line anyway? Never seen The Moose this full before.” Castiel nodded along with Dean’s question, undeniably curious about the reason behind Gabriel’s sudden boom in business. Kevin simply gazed over the large pile of people still growing steadily in and outside of the café, looking too tired to even care anymore.

         “Mr. Novak decided that it would be a wonderful idea to give everyone who walked in before 11am a free small espresso, he even put out radio ads and everything.” Castiel cracked a little to show a discrete look of surprise at Kevin’s announcement.  His brother had always insisted that “nothing can beat the good ol’ fashion word of mouth, Cassie, paying for ads only costs me more money when recommendations from friend to friend stick better than some sleaze ball yapping up my shop for a commercial.” Gabriel’s sudden change of heart was concerning, to say the least.

         “I didn’t apply for this job to take orders from a huge herd of caffeine addicted businessmen!” Kevin exclaimed dramatically, earning him a few raised eyebrows from the customers immediately nearby.  “One of the reasons I did apply was because of its small business status!” Kevin rolled out, his enthusiasm growing at the pace the line of customers was growing, the line he was steadfastly ignoring in favour of complaining to Dean and Castiel.

        “My college gives me so much work to do, it’s not even funny. Like, how am I supposed to handle a fast paced job along with all the essays I have to write?”  Dean slowly nodded, feigning a look of faked interest, as he really didn’t know what to do to get the kid to finally take their order.  He glanced over at Cas with raised eyebrows, forgetting the tension between them for a moment.  It just seemed such a natural movement.  He looked away just as quickly, hoping Cas hadn’t caught the motion.

        “God, why did I decide on Linguistics as my major? If I have to stare at these freaking symbols for another minute, I think my eyes are going to burn out of their sockets.” Kevin vigorously rubbed his eyelids to further his point. “Should have gone with Biochemistry, like my mom said.”

        Dean saw his chance to intercede, and took it immediately.  “You could view this job like a sort of break, taking my order of one grande Van Halen and one…” He looked over at Cas nervously, not wanting to order his beverage for him, as it would give away the fact that he did indeed have his coffee order memorized. Dean really needed to research psychiatrists soon.

        “One small cup of the Twisted Sister as well, please,” Cas said, filling the gap in the dialogue as he might with a stroke of his pen.  Again, he couldn’t help but think that his and Dean’s life had become a story with one of the most insufferable authors known to man.

         Kevin looked between the two even grumpier than he’d started out, but eventually turned his eyes down to the iPad to place their orders.

         “That wasn’t even smooth guys, that was the equivalent of chunky peanut butter,” Gabriel piped in from behind them where he was still taking orders in his little notebook.  Both men had the sense to look somewhat ashamed.

         Taking the two cups out of the hands of the pastry chef who seemed to have been thrown on barista duty at the last minute from the state of disarray the poor man was in, Kevin turned back around to hand them over to Dean and Castiel, who both made to turn towards their respective tables.

         “Wait, I forgot to tell you guys a thing.” Kevin flopped his hand at them haphazardly, his wrist resembling a fish attempting to flip away from the impending death of a boat deck.

         “The boss reserved the corner booth for you both, and said that he is sorry he could only hold one, ‘cause The Moose is too busy to hold up two tables.” Sure enough, on the top of the table that Castiel frequented, a sign saying, “Reserved for the lucky couple,” in macaroni was stood up, the noodles dyed different colors so that the macaroni font was a hodgepodge of hues. Dean quickly glanced over to his normal spot on the opposite end of the establishment, seeing that there was indeed a woman bent over her laptop, tapping away whilst sipping her tea, unaware of the upheaval she had been accidentally included in.

         “There is room for the both of us, of course, so Gabriel’s reasoning is sound.” Castiel remarked as calmly as he possibly could, which was quite the challenging task as his insides were currently forming a conga line off of a cliff.

         “This place is ungodly busy, so I guess we are booth buddies today!”  Dean internally berated himself for his obviously forced cheerful manner.   They made their way over to the booth, and Dean sat first, placing his coffee on the corner of the tabletop as he bent down to retrieve his papers out of the duffle back he had dropped next to his seat. Castiel stood there for a couple more seconds, still staring at the macaroni sign blankly, then also fell into his seat at the booth.  Cas stared at the words on Gabriel’s hand-made sign, stomach doing odd little twists at the words “lucky couple.”  He wanted sigh and shake his fist at his and Dean’s author, but as he would look both ridiculous and insane, he did not.

         Not liking this new overly cool Cas, Dean looked up from the papers he had been arranging in front of him, taking in Castiel’s smooth deliberate motions as the man also set up his work.

         “So, uh, how is the book coming along?” Cas glanced up from his drafts, before dropping his gaze back down again, forcing back his enthusiasm.  Dean was, of course, only talking to him out of courtesy. He didn’t have any other reason to.

         “It has been slow, but I am sure it will get there. How about you?” Displeased with the lack of reaction he got out of Cas, Dean continued to stare at him, determined to get himself back in his good books and trash this shitty I-am-unable-to-emote persona. He knew that Cas was only putting up with him for the sake of not causing a scene in his brother’s café again, but that didn’t mean Dean wouldn’t try his damnedest to fix the mess he’d caused.

         “Well, it’s been pretty slow goin’ for me too.  The characters don’t seem to want to talk to me, for some reason, like they are upset. It’s weird.  Y’know what I mean?”  Dean asked, hoping to strike up a real conversation.  Castiel nodded slowly, his eyes still on his drafts.

         “That is how it has been for me as well. It will pass eventually.” Dean jerked his head down a notch in a semblance of a nod, unsure as to how to proceed.  Not able to think of another conversation starter, he also turned his attention down to his novel, staring blankly at the pages.  Neither of them said a word for several minutes, both wanting nothing more to fill the air between them with joking and banter, but instead resolved themselves to the sound of rustling pages and small sips instead.  The tension between them could have been cut with a butter knife, and both sensed it, but neither had the slightest inkling on how to clear it up.

        “Oh, I spy a fabulous piece of macaroni art—and a Dean!” Dean jerked up at the sound of his name, instantly spotting a bright red haired woman bouncing in his direction.  A grin lit up Dean’s face, a grin that Cas couldn’t help but stare somewhat adoringly at, admiring how it lit up his features.

        “Charlie! What are you doing here?”  Standing up so he could give his agent a quick hug, Dean wrapped his arms around her, glad that there was someone there who could help break the tense atmosphere that was surrounding him and Cas.

        “I just came by to get that free coffee and to make sure Castiel here doesn’t skip out on our anime marathon punishment bash tonight!” The women next to Charlie answered instead.  Dean hadn’t even noticed her until she spoke. Castiel turned quickly when he heard her voice, a note of surprise flitting across his features before the shell reclaimed them.

        “Hello Becky, I also was not expecting to see you here.” Charlie and Becky both shared a look, noting Castiel’s cold demeanor along with Dean’s slightly twitchy and flustered aura.

        “We couldn’t pass up the opportunity! Free coffee, a chance to see our clients in their natural habitat, it’s a golden chance,” Charlie piped in with a signature lopsided grin.  Pulling up a couple of recently vacated beanbags, Charlie placed the sacks beside both of their clients, motioning theatrically to Becky with a wave of her arm to take a seat. Becky sat as close to Castiel as she could with the bean bag, much to the discomfort of the man.  Noting Cas’ appearance with a scrunched nose, Becky waggled her fingers at his trench coat.

        “It’s got to be, like, ninety degrees in here. Take off the coat!” Castiel seemed affronted by this, and pulled the lapels of his coat closer together.

        “I like this coat, it’s comfortable.” He mumbled, sounding for the world like a petulant child. Dean had to hold back his--super manly, of course--giggles at Cas’ reaction.

        “Take. It. Off. That sweater is more than warm enough as it is,” Becky insisted.

        “No, thank you,” Cas answered coolly, taking a sip of his coffee.

        “ _Take it off or so help me I will take it off for you._ ” Becky said this in the best sinister voice in her repertoire, making both Dean and Charlie unable to hold on to their laughter anymore from the combination of the voice and Cas’ immediate shedding of his coat, which he hung carefully over the back of his seat.   Becky’s lips curled up in a positively evil smile as Cas carefully rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, adjusting his glasses after doing so.

        “That’s much better, look at those lean arms you have, and that neck, wowee!  And would you just look at those big, broad shoulders.  The coat makes you look scrawny, I swear it does.” Gushing over an increasingly uncomfortable Castiel, Becky proceeded to pat every spot she mentioned until Charlie at last pulled her off laughingly.  The two agents did notice that every time Becky would mention a feature on the blue-eyed author, Dean’s gaze seem to linger on the spot before forcing his eyes to look elsewhere. Charlie waggled her eyebrows at Becky, who waggled her own.  The silent communication did not go unnoticed by Dean, who narrowed his eyes at the two of them.

       “What’s with the matching eyebrow seizures, you two?”  His voice startled Charlie and Becky, who could have sworn that Dean was still ogling Cas’ “big, broad shoulders.”  Charlie waved her hand through the air once, feigning nonchalance.

       “Oh, just Kirk and Spock, you know,” she responded in her most offhand manner.  Becky started giggling immediately, knowing precisely where Charlie was headed with her shipping implications.

       “And what exactly does a 60’s sci-fi franchise have to do with twitchy forehead hair?” Castiel nodded along with Dean’s question again, despite not knowing anything about the two people in question.

       “Becky and I were just reading a whole lot of Spirk fanfic—”

       “Whoa, you mean people want to see those two, you know, _together_ together?” Shocked, Dean turned his head to and fro between Charlie and Becky, who were still passing each other knowing looks.

      “Trust me, they totally were pining for each other in canon, it’s not even debatable.” Becky said with a smirk.

       Castiel, now thoroughly confused, asked, “Do these two people work for the circus and get shot out of cannons?  I do not understand that reference.”

       Becky and Charlie both looked over at him with overly sympathetic faces while Dean quickly covered his mouth to hide the sappy grin he had not been able to stop over Cas’ antics.

       “Oh Cas, one day we really have to tie you down and force you to browse the internet for more than just “How To Tie A Tie” videos.” Becky patted his forearm consolingly, Castiel seemed to give up, adopting a seemingly permanent expression of confusion.  All Dean could think for a moment was that he was glad to see Cas showing any emotion at all again.

       “But the two wouldn’t work together at all in that sort of relationship though, right?” Dean attempted to reason. “Kirk is this headstrong, spur of the moment, energetic sort of guy, whereas Spock is this emotionless alien, essentially.  I mean, I know he’s half human, but he still goes by logic more than emotion.  Don’t they have too many differences to be paired romantically?”

       Upon finishing his reasoning, he turned to look at Cas’ agent, who was now sporting a grin the Cheshire Cat would have been jealous of.

       “Dean, Dean, Dean, shouldn’t you, a writer, know this the best? Opposites attract, my friend, and they _always_ end up as the best pairs. Just like how your freckles would perfectly contrast with blue e—“ Before Becky could say another possibly disastrous word, Charlie shot up, pulling her friend along with her by holding on to her arm in a vice grip.  Becky let out a small squeak at the indignity, but was quieted by the stern glance her red headed companion gave her. Castiel had given an involuntary jerk at the word “freckles,” his arm scooting his papers up and off of the table. Dean watched the journey of the pages, feeling as if the slow descent was an oddly perfect image of what his mind seemed to be doing. Falling, falling, falling…

       “Just remembered that Crowley wanted to check in with us about our newly signed agents, so we better go. Nice seeing you both!”  Dragging Becky along before another word could be spoken by either party, Charlie kept her grip on her arm, pulling the fellow agent past the receded line and out the door. Dean noted that they both hadn’t even stopped by the counter to get their free coffee they had come in for.

“That was…an interesting meeting.” Castiel stated, eyeing the papers now littering the floor around their booth.

            “And I think that was the biggest understatement you have ever said, Cas.” Still eyeing the door, Dean mulled over the last words Becky had said. For such a common statement, the phrase opposites attract was still floating around in his mind, as if it was trying to find another thought in there and stick itself to it.

            “Now my drafts are out of order too. Guess I better pick these up before they get footprints on them too…” Castiel said with a sigh, rising up to walk over to the piece of floor the papers had decided to camp out on. Dean quickly rose too, almost knocking over his drink in his haste to help.

            “Here, let me grab a few.” Castiel shook his head quickly, motioning silently for Dean to sit back down.

            “It’s fine, it was my fault they fell, so I will gather them. It wasn’t your—“ Pausing, Dean watched with interest as a faint blush appeared on the man’s cheeks. “Actually, it is. So, you are not allowed to help as a punishment for this.” More confused than he has been this entire morning, Dean flicked his eyes between the  papers now being herded into the man’s arms, his slowly fading blush, and…what was that?

            Dean’s eyes stayed frozen on the spot when Cas stood up, standing as he sorted through the mess his draft had become.  Cas stretched when he was on his feet and Dean’s eyes widened in surprise as he spotted some sort of intricate inked design that trailed down from Cas’ upper back to his lower, peaking out from under the hem of his shirt, which had ridden up when he stretched.  

            “You have a tattoo?”  Dean blurted without thinking.  Cas turned quickly and yanked his shirt down, the blush spreading across his cheeks once again.  He tried to hide the colour rising on his face by turning and stacking the papers on their booth.

            “Yes,” he answered a little stiffly.  Dean grinned like a child, delighted by the unexpected discovery.

            “You don’t seem the type.  What is it?”  He asked as he got to his feet, swiftly moving around the table towards Cas, who flinched away, pulling his shirt down further.  “C’mon, what is it?  I couldn’t tell!”  Dean lunged towards him playfully, and Cas stepped away.  He wasn’t quick enough, however, and Dean’s fingers caught the hem of Cas’ sweater.

            “Stop it, Dean!”  Cas exclaimed, his heart hammering against his rib cage at the sensation of Dean’s fingers tangled up with the bottom of his sweater.  Fortunately, a voice interrupted Dean’s playful antics.

            “I knew you were all for bluntly hitting on people, Dean, but pulling off their clothes in public? The things you learn about your brother…” Dean, temporarily abandoned his attempt to see Cas’ tattoo, whipped around towards the front of the cafe.  He half jogged over to greet his little brother, who had just walked in the door.

            “Sammy! Man, it feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you!” Dean patted Sam on the shoulder, grinning up at the extremely tall man, who also was smiling down at Dean.

            “Yeah, I haven’t been able to come here lately, I’ve been busy with…work and stuff, you know how it goes.” Sam self-consciously started rubbing non-existent lint off of his suit.  Dean completely missed Sam’s somewhat odd behaviour in the face of his joy at seeing his brother.  With Sam’s insane work schedule, it wasn’t often that they got to meet up.

            Still tugging at his sweater, Cas watched the two brothers chat animatedly, an affectionate smile pulling at his lips.  He loved seeing this Dean, the one who was bursting at the seams with passionate energy, the one whose face lit up at the sharing of every detail of the story he was weaving for the other. Castiel could tell he truly cared for his brother, for he had never seen Dean this exuberant before. It was utterly refreshing, and Cas felt the now constant fluttering of his stomach quicken, as if instead of one bird, a flock had decided to move in.

            “My moose made it to my moose-tacular event!” As if he had been summoned, Gabriel popped out of nowhere, instantly appearing at Sam’s elbow, beaming up at him. Sam groaned at the horrible pun, but still gave the man a fond hello as well.

            “It’s actually the perfect time for you to show your antlers, Sammykins.  I have some new ding dong pastries that have been begging for you to sample them!” Gabriel poked at Sam’s side, which the man seemed not to mind at all.  Dean simply couldn’t find it in himself to be thrilled at giving up his brother to Gabriel so soon. Seeing the somewhat possessive look in Dean’s eyes, Gabriel snorted, pulling Sam towards the back kitchen as he said, “Don’t worry, it’ll only be a quickie!” Sam gave Dean an apologetic look, gesturing with one finger that it would only be one moment before the pair disappeared into the hallway. Castiel chuckled at his brother’s snatching of Sam, then looked back down at the drafts he was still having to re-organize. Dean sat back down across from him, a mock glare directed at the chortling man.

            “Oh, how would you feel if you hadn’t seen your brother in ages, and some hyper puppy came and stole him away to taste _ding dongs_?  I mean, it’s like I’m suddenly less important than a freaking _pastry,_ ” Dean grumbled.  Having finished re-ordering the papers, Castiel stood them up, tapping them on the tabletop so as to line them up. He looked back up at Dean, a mischievous look frighteningly similar to Gabriel’s dancing on his face.

            “I would let him taste those ding dongs, as I would probably hear about it in great detail later of how he really wanted to savor those ding dongs if I didn’t.   I would also hear how I was the world’s biggest ding dong blocker to ever exist.” Dean raised his eyebrows, glad that the cool exterior had finally faded with their whole tattoo scuffle--he was still going to investigate that later-- but not quite sure he was fully understanding the joke Cas seemed to be trying to tell.  He did, however, find the repeated utterance of the phrase “ding dongs” in Cas’ deep baritone utterly amusing.

            “Are you saying that Gabe really likes ding dongs, like, his favourite dessert or something?” Dean asked with a small, confused smile.  Castiel tried his best not to full out laugh at Dean’s comment. Cas had assumed that Dean knew the whole picture, but apparently he had been mistaken.

            “Something like that, I suppose,” Cas responded in good-humour.

            Dean still didn’t think he was properly grasping what Cas seemed to be hinting at, but he let it slide, simply enjoying seeing Castiel at ease instead of purposely stiffened.  He must really care about his brother, to become this relaxed around someone he could barely tolerate just to ease the mood so there was not another scene.  

            “You and Gabriel do seem close, though,” Dean mentioned, going off his inner monologue.  Cas nodded in agreement.

            “Yes, we are. Gabriel has always been very supportive, definitely the most out of all of my family.”  The comment was said in an off-hand manner, and so Dean didn’t see any problem with pursuing the topic.

            “You have other siblings?” Dean could immediately tell that this was the wrong thing to inquire about, as Castiel’s pleasant mood instantly dropped away, an absolutely morose frown taking its place. It looked as if he had been dropped off without warning at a close friend’s funeral and not have known about his friend’s passing in the first place.  Dean’s heart clenched, feeling like a spirit had reached into his ribcage without his consent and wrapped its chilled fingers around the organ in a vice-like grip. He couldn’t handle this feeling, it was too strong. That face needed to come off of Cas, immediately.

            “I don’t think I would need another sibling if I had one like Gabe, though.”  Dean said hurriedly.  Cas glanced up at the words.  “He seems to really care, with all of his constant checking on your table throughout the day and his jokes when he’s pretending he’s not concerned for you, he is a pretty good brother.  He certainly seems to make you happy  You smile the most when you’re around him.” Dean rushed on, glad to see that his words had lightened Cas up a teensy bit, the edges of his frown not so sharp anymore.  He also realise that he might have said a bit much, revealing how closely he’d been watching Cas.

            “You better not tell him I said that though, I don’t want his ego to burst from inflation or anything. But he kinda reminds me of Sammy, in how he is always there for you.”  Dean said somewhat softly, unable to keep from thinking of his own brother for a moment.  Cas no longer had the air of melancholy covering him, but his original relaxed mood had not returned yet. Dean felt the fingers clutching his heart slowly peel off, one by one, the less depressed Castiel changed to be.

            “To me, it seems that Sam is a fantastic brother to you as well. You simply lit up when he walked through that door, and the more you two were in each other’s presence, the more you seemed to radiate happiness. It was very nice to see.” Not expecting those words, Dean stared back at Cas, who continued to say, “Having such an attentive and caring brother really helped me through a lot of things in my life, and I am very glad to see you had someone offering you the same support I was blessed to have.” At this, Castiel tilted his head to the side, and this half smile flooded his features, the corners of lips still twitching upwards.  The small, completely characteristic smile sent him over some unseen cliff that he’d been unaware he was on the edge of.

             Dean’s heart was suddenly free of the grip, but instead, there were now fingers reaching out from the centre of his heart, expanding, causing the organ to feel like it had just been pumped full of a gallon of helium. That feeling, that one, he knew the nature of.  Suddenly, all of his strange behavior the week clicked. The Baby incident, his sneaky observing, his obsession with blue eyes, the pain he felt when Cas was in pain, the falling, falling, falling…

            He was beginning to fall in love with the one person he couldn’t have.

            Dean leaped out of the booth and headed towards the hallway he had seen Gabriel and Sam leave through, yelling behind him as he went, “I just remembered that I have something I really need to talk to Sammy about, so, uh, I’ll be back.” Castiel stared after the jogging man, confused at the sudden departure as well as alarmed by what Dean might run into in that hallway.

            “Dean, you probably should wait—“ It was too late. Dean had already reached the hallway door, pushing it in quickly, and had slipped inside.  Cas covered his mouth in horror as he watched Dean disappear.  He was caught between confusion at Dean’s erratic behaviour and concern for the poor man, whose image of his pristine little brother was surely about to be shattered.

***

            Dean rushed down the short hallway.  If anyone could screw Dean’s head back on straight about the whole Cas affair, it would be Sam.  He turned the corner and paused, realizing that he had no idea where he was going.  He heard a small noise from what appeared to be a small supply closet.

            Curious, he made his way to the slightly ajar door, pushing it open.  The scene that he was met with would, he swore, forever be painted on the inside of his eyelids.  His little brother, his innocent lawyer of a little brother, was on his knees in front of Gabriel, large hands wrapped around Gabriel’s bare thighs, mouth full of--Oh God, Dean thought he would be sick.  In the brief moment before Dean could break out of his horrified paralysis, Gabriel--who had his head tilted back and his hands buried in Sam’s hair--spoke the words that would haunt Dean’s dreams until the end of time.

            “Yeah, Sammy-boy... L-lick it like a lollypop.”  Bile crept up the back of Dean’s throat.  He turned and fled as Gabriel tilted his head forward.  He rushed back out into the main part of the cafe.  

            Cas stood as Dean re-emerged and instantly regretted allowing him to go.  The poor man’s face was pale and he looked as though he would pass out.  Dean stumbled back to the table, and Cas gave him his most apologetic look.

            “I really thought you knew, Dean,” he said as Dean practically fell back into his seat.  He buried his face in his hands and let out a long, low groan.  Sure enough, he couldn’t seem to get the image of his little brother on his knees, latched onto Gabriel’s “ding dong” out of his mind.  Cas reached across the table and laid his hand on Dean’s arm, an act that normally would have sent Dean’s heart aflutter.  In his current condition, however, not even an earthquake could have phased him.  Cas, however, reveled at the small amount of contact.  Dean’s skin was smooth but warm and his stomach did another little flip.

            “It’s okay, Dean.  I know how you feel.  I went to visit Gabriel recently and didn’t knock before I entered his apartment.”  A small shudder rolled down Cas’ spine at the memory.  At that moment, Gabriel and Sam emerged from the back hallway.  Dean didn’t noticed straightaway, but Cas did.  He slid his hand away from Dean’s arm and looked up at his brother, who sauntered over to the table with the biggest and most satisfied grin ever to grace humanity.  Sam looked a little flustered, running a hand through his hair.  

Without really thinking, Cas piped up, “Where did your tie go, Sam?”  Dean pulled his face out of his hands, glancing up briefly.  Gabriel answered in Sam’s stead.

            “Oh, that was my bad.  Gotta take the thing home and wash it for the moose here.  Accidentally got a little of the pastry filling on his poor tie.”  Dean’s stomach turned violently and he thought he would be sick again, especially when Gabriel looked right at Dean and gave his sauciest and most suggestive wink.  Dean groaned loudly and Sam looked to his brother, realization dawning on his face as he looked between Gabriel and Dean.

            “Oh my god,” was all Sam could say as Dean slammed his forehead down on the table, wrapping his arms around his head.  Gabriel broke out in full-body laughter, Cas hid a few manly chuckles behind his hand, and poor Sam stood there stuttering and blushing while his brother tried his very best to stop existing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official Art by **[McBenik](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com)**  
>  ↪ _[Cover](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art) ☁ [Illustration](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
> Official Playlist on **[8tracks](http://www.8tracks.com/conversingconverse/as-the-ink-flows-1)**  
>  ↪ _[Reblog on Tumblr](http://waywardangel.co.vu/post/101323555785/the-playlist-for-two-stubborn-authors-fall-in-love)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **CheshireMoon** (sammylied)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.sammylied.tumblr.com/)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **RexxieConverse** (cascelestial)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.waywardangel.co.vu/) ☁ [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ofmirandalynn)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  _Want more? Check out ****[A Home Beneath The Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135366/chapters/2295273)!_


	7. The Ugly Duckling

            Fresh, brisk New York air. Lush greenery surrounding the well-worn paved paths. Tourists and city dwellers alike pausing in mid stride to admire the scene encompassing them. Dean had never truly appreciated the small wonder that is Central Park as fully as he did in that moment, the vibrant yet still eerily peaceful atmosphere being a very welcome change from The Caffeinated Moose in that moment.

            Dean pressed the pads of his fingers unforgivingly to his closed eyelids, massaging them slowly as if to manually wipe his eyes all of the images he had been unlucky enough to witness in the last few hours. There were some things one really didn’t want to witness their brother being a part of, and seeing Sam-- _no._

            Groaning once more over letting himself relive that dreaded moment again, Dean ceased attempting to knead his eyelids in favour of feverishly running his hands through his already highly distressed locks, slowly pacing in a tight circle in the middle of a decently crowded path, not noticing the many strange looks he was getting from passersby as they weaved in and around his makeshift oval. Over and over again, the mental replays of Sam and Gabriel in the closet, the sympathetic yet vaguely amused expression Cas had worn, the slightly startled faces of all three when Dean abruptly rose out of his side of the booth, announcing that he needed ‘somewhere that still had a shred of sanity left’ as he rushed out the door to the safe haven of his baby.

            The oblong circular shape Dean had been tracing with the footsteps of his distress had become visible in the gravel dusting the pavement, dust from the shifting slowly drifting up in a dreary haze as if to purposely mock the inability of Dean’s mind to let itself float away from its own issues. Dean watched as the dust collected to the hems of pedestrians strolling past, the gray matter seemingly content to easily latch on with a complete trust that its carrier would take it where it needed to be. It must really be a low point in his life if he was jealous of freakin’ dust, Dean scoffed to himself as he angrily kicked at the pavement, taking a little pleasure in the chaos he had introduced.

            “Oi, Zachariah, those toasty little buns of yours are calling for a little adventure outside of your rickety sausage fest!” This solitary sentence floated over the ever present hubbub of the idle chatter and rustling leaves, startling Dean out of his own little bubble and turning his attention to the very odd scene unfolding just a few feet away. A man, laden with multiple bags which seemed to have previously held loaves of bread by the labels, had gone up to the nearby hot dog vendor, and was now edging closer and closer to the alarmed owner who was attempting to edge around his cart to keep his distance.

            “I-I have already been quite generous with giving you my stale bread, we have an agreement-” The man with the bags tsked loudly, Dean could almost hear the spittle splashing the vendor’s face with the force of the exclamation. 

            “You expect me to keep feeding my children with these, these, _outcasts_? This scum of the bread kingdom, this--” The man shook his many empty bags dramatically, his eyes widening comically for effect “--dégueulasse pieces of vermin?!”

            Now scurrying around fully to the front, Zachariah hurriedly began shoving all of the condiments and utensil holders into a small hatch on the side of the cart, folding in his pop out umbrella and slide out tables as he went. Dean, unable to assuage his curiosity any longer, abandoned his small section of path, jogging over to the spot where the bag man was attempting to throw what appeared to be burnt parts of hot dog buns into Zachariah’s hair as he packed up. Teensy bits of black crumbles now peppered both the bread revolter and the vendor, as the bread had been thrown with enough vigor to blanket them both.

            “Balthazar, you do realize that you need actual stones to stone someone, don’t you?” Zachariah sighed as he snapped the last open compartment shut, and leaned down to unlock the break holding the wheels of his cart in place. Balthazar chuckled darkly, retaliating by throwing whole chunks of the burnt remnants without bothering to break them apart.

            “Oh, I’m more hoping that one of these infernal health department violations carries some deadly disease, preferably one that includes some lovely flesh eating bacteria.” Dean snorted loudly at this, causing Balthazar to notice the man who had taken a seat on a patch of grass nearby, watching the strange scenario unfold before him in a desperate cling of distraction. Balthazar merely raised an eyebrow at Dean, the bags and leftover crusts in his arms making a crunchy rustle as he turned to look at the man.

            “Is there a challenger who wishes to join in on the fight against my beautiful bacteria?” Dean merely grinned, absently twirling the blades of grass with his index finger.

            “Was just thinking that your pet disease may be a better threat if you gave it a name, ‘flesh-eating’ is kind of cliché nowadays, with all of the zombie rage going on right now.” Balthazar nodded slowly, pondering the possible titles he could give his plague. A shrill _creeaak_ interrupted his reverie, both men snapping their heads to look at the vendor who had tried to wheel away his business whilst a name for his supposed demise was being thought up. Zachariah flinched, but immediately covered this reaction with a faux cool exterior, which was utterly transparent to any outside viewer.

            “Well, I wasn’t about to just sit here and wait for the verdict, was I?” Not waiting for a response, Zachariah shoved his cart as hard as he could, chasing his hot dogs down the incline he had directed it towards in the direction of the opposite end of the park. Dean simply laughed at the sight of the hectic vendor running after his stand whilst Balthazar was content to yell various things-- Dean recognized the words ‘swine’ and ‘whore’ out of the slew-- in French at Zachariah’s receding figure.

            Balthazar huffed, standing with his ridiculous collection of plastic wrappings slowly waving in the breeze and crumbling bread remnants scattered amongst them. Shaking his head slightly, he turned back to Dean, who was still sitting in the grass at his feet, watching the vendor make his way away from the scene.

            “Who are you supposed to be, then?” Balthazar inquired in a matter-of-fact tone, gesturing with his elbow in Dean’s direction. Turning his gaze back to the man he was secretly dubbing Pompous Bread Man of the Wild, Dean answered slowly.

            “Just a local shmuck looking to distract himself from his shit load of problems, ‘nuthin too special.” Raising an eyebrow, Balthazar looked down the man, noting how even when he was speaking to him, his attention had been drawn to something else entirely. He followed Dean’s gaze, noting that the object that had suddenly enraptured the man’s eyes was the small duck pond a few yards away, the water an exceptional crystal blue on this particular day. Dean huffed, now pulling and squishing the blades of grass he had been previously been content with just fiddling with. “Have you ever been angry at a colour? Not an object that is a certain colour, no, the colour itself?” Dean took the plants he had yanked out of the ground and tossed them angrily into the air into the direction of the pond.

            “No, can’t say I have, but I certainly get angry if my children decide to colour my belongings white out of spite, the little rascals.” Balthazar shook his head with a fond exasperation. Dean continued to watch the blades slowly flutter back to earth, yet slightly intrigued by these children Balthazar had been fighting Zachariah for bread over.

            “Where are these kids you fight sausage connoisseurs for, anyway? Friend’s house for the weekend?” Balthazar let out a mighty guffaw at that, moving to pull up a slightly alarmed Dean to his feet, scattering a few plastic bags on the ground in the process. He began dragging Dean towards the pond he had be staring at, who was halfheartedly trying to tug away.

            “I think meeting my wonderful little family is just the thing you need right now, c’mon!”

 

***

            Dean leaned back into the pond-side bench he had been placed on, waiting for Balthazar to return with the children he apparently had left to play near the man-made body of water. A newspaper, rumpled and tattered had been left on the edge of the bench, its bent edges silently waving in the breeze. With nothing better to do besides glare at a pond with a stunningly profound colouring of blue, Dean picked up the paper, smoothing the edges straight as he unfolded it.

            “The Newly Constructed Roadhouse Set To Open Soon”

            The small headline in the bottom left corner of the news immediately caught his attention, turning the page to read the full article.

            “ _After the devastating fire that burned down local favourite The Roadhouse, claiming both owner and business a year ago, prominent restaurateur Sarah Blake has announced that the beloved diner would be re-opening its doors soon, thanks to the combined efforts of private donors and her restaurant management team. This new-“_

Not wanting to read on, Dean crumpled the paper and chucked it at the far side of the bench. He could almost swear he could hear Ellen ranting and raving about “the gall of some city folk, taking up a dead woman’s business and calling it their own!”, and could see Jo shaking her head slowly at her mother’s ranting, nonchalant about the actual situation. Dean cracked a small smile at the image, glad that the article had brought up more fond recollections of the two, instead of the soot stained images that still liked to visit his nightmares.

            “Don’t tell me you are already tired of my humble abode, mon ami!” Dean looked over to where Balthazar’s voice had sounded by the ponds edge, and was welcomed by a very strange sight indeed. Slowly raising himself off of the splintered bench he had been waiting on, Dean hesitantly padded over to where the man was covered head to toe with ducks. Ducks. Picking at his hair, crawling under his loose v neck tee, laying on his crossed legs. Balthazar was completely covered with his “children”, content to simply watch them crawl all over his person, sometimes reaching out to pat one of them on the bill. Dean stopped a few feet away, still a bit shell shocked at this unforeseen family meeting.

            “Uh. So. This your…family, then?” Balthazar beamed up at the man, either not noticing or not caring about the incredulity in Dean’s voice.

            “This would be them! Aren’t they just a jovial bunch?” He tweak the bill of the duck closest to his fingers at the words, causing the bird to squawk out an indignant _quack!_ at the touch. Dean plopped himself down, still staring at the strange image in front of him.

            “How did you manage this, uh, you know-“ he gesticulated towards the birds still crawling all over Balthazar “-little, er, family here?”

            Feeding the littlest of the ducks one of the last bits of crust he had stored in his plastic bag collection, which had been abandoned and stacked into a pile besides them, Balthazar gave his little unlikely posse a fond grin.

            “I started coming to this park often a few years ago, just to clear my head with a little fresh air, that sort of thing. During one of my strolls here, I came across this absolutely lovely pond here, along with these fantastic kids.” Balthazar waved his arm to point towards the ducks, careful not to disturb them when doing so. “I just had to say hello. So I bummed a few crusts off of the nearby hot dog vendor—when he still was a decent chap, now he is just an ass who plays with his sausages too much –and then went to introduce myself. They really didn’t care for me at first, not even taking the bread I so lovingly provided for them.” He looked down to give his rag tag bunch an exaggerated distraught face, the duck sitting on top of his head falling off with the small motion. “Didn’t give up though, kept appearing at this spot with my bread, until one of them finally gave me a chance, came up to nibble at the crust I had held out.” Dean nodded slowly, still a bit wary of the ducks that has now started to edge closer to him out of curiosity.

            “They probably only do this out of tolerance, since they saw that you weren’t stopping, and decided to make the most of it.” He said bitterly, his mind focusing on another enchanting blue that had been lurking around his thoughts instead of the unlikely family before him. This is what Cas does, isn’t it? He knew Dean was not going to exit his brother’s café any time soon, so had simply been attempting to make the situation the best he could with what he had, he didn’t really care about Dean himself, it was a tolerance.

            Balthazar outright laughed at this, causing Dean to jump a little.

            “That is what I first believed too, but I was soon proven wrong on that point. You see, when you are simply tolerating a person, you don’t truly care about them, correct? You view them as an extra in your play, that unnecessary character that helps build up a backdrop. Actually going up to someone when you don’t need to just to comfort them proves that you care about them more than just as Park Guy #3, and that is what these here ducklings did for me.” Dean leaned a bit closer, wondering what these park dwelling animals had done that could have shown this.

            “One of the days that I came to the pond, my precious historical weapons collection had been burgled—“

            “Wait, _historical weapons collection_?”

            Looking greatly affronted, Balthazar turned to Dean with a wounded expression.

            “Don’t tell me you too also thought me to be a vagrant. I am actually a disgustingly wealthy investment broker, I’ll have you know.”

            Not knowing what to say, Dean twitched his head slightly downwards, now looking back to Balthazar’s harassment of the vendor for free bread and his stack of plastic bags with an even greater confusion.

            “Anyways, I was greatly distraught that day, and ran to this pond without even grabbing a morsel for the children, plopping myself down on that bench over there. I didn’t even try to get the duck’s attention, I was too convinced that they only had that tolerance you speak of. But, low and behold, this group here waddled over and plopped themselves down beside me, even though I didn’t have any bread to feed them. They simply came because they knew I was upset.” Balthazar looked content at the utterance of those words, now petting the duck which had come to sit in the center of his lap.

            “That is when you really know that someone is at least starting to see you as more than a pest, when they break their mold to offer you their comfort, no benefit to them.”

            Dean was no longer seeing Balthazar and his ducks, he instead saw Cas coming over to his table to apologize, Cas’ concerned expression as he watched Dean leave the café after walking in on Gabriel and his brother, halfway out of the booth to follow Dean…

            “You look like you just had some sort epiphany there, if your dumbstruck face is anything to go by. Somehow I don’t think it is you realizing you are heads over heels with the strangely charismatic and dangerously handsome man you ran into at the park.” Dean dazedly looked back at Balthazar, still processing what he had just remembered.

            “Not you, no.” He started clambering to his feet, small tufts of grass falling from his jeans as he rose. Balthazar grinned, his little family of ducks now quacking after the now risen figure of Dean.

            “My chiseled features too pronounced for you, mate?” The image of a certain man’s ever present 5 o’clock shadow appeared in Dean’s mind, one certainly not belonging to Balthazar.

Not bothering to answer, Dean slowly began to walk away from the small pile of human and duck, replaying the many days he had spent at The Moose, each detail sifted through with a new light. Yes, maybe Cas didn’t care about him to any great extent, but the foundations were there, a story had begun to be penned. Cas’ face of concern continued to swim through his vision as he walked back to his car, a bit more of a spring in his step.

            “Hope he gets what he is obviously pining for, lovesick fool,” Balthazar said as he watched Dean disappear down the path back to the street, his ducklings quacking their agreement. The pond continued to twinkle in the background, the shades of blue just a little bit more entrancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official Art by **[McBenik](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com)**  
>  ↪ _[Cover](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art) ☁ [Illustration](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
> Official Playlist on **[8tracks](http://www.8tracks.com/conversingconverse/as-the-ink-flows-1)**  
>  ↪ _[Reblog on Tumblr](http://waywardangel.co.vu/post/101323555785/the-playlist-for-two-stubborn-authors-fall-in-love)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **CheshireMoon** (sammylied)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.sammylied.tumblr.com/)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **RexxieConverse** (cascelestial)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.waywardangel.co.vu/) ☁ [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ofmirandalynn)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  _Want more? Check out ****[A Home Beneath The Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135366/chapters/2295273)!_


	8. A Midsummer's Night Dream

             Dean stood in front of the entry to The Caffeinated Moose, staring at the door blankly whilst listening to his thoughts stage a full out war in his mind. He had gone straight home after his park excursion, blasting ACDC on the drive home to drown out the mess of emotions his thoughts and what-if’s were causing. It was not any better when he finally reached his apartment, the familiar surroundings providing no suitable distraction. He had barely slept at all the previous night, instead replaying every single interaction with Castiel since he had met him that Dean could still remember in an endless loop, analyzing every detail he could scrounge up. Needless to say, Dean still was unsure how to go about his day at the Moose, a bit exhausted from lack of rest pairing with his nervousness of facing Cas after his small revelation of sorts.

            Done delaying the inevitable, Dean shakily reached out to pull open the door, instantly comforted by the now familiar smells of roasting coffee beans and succulent fruity treats.

            “Dean, you’re here.” An all too distinct voice sounded to his left, causing chills to immediately run down his spine. He turned towards the sound, not prepared to face him immediately when he walked into the café.

            “Uh, hey! Your trench coat looks particularly, uh, unwrinkled today.” Dean blabbed, not connecting his head to his mouth before he opened it. Cas simply tilted his head at the strange comment, blaming the awkward statement on the residual memories from yesterday events. Not wanting to beat around the subject and make sure Dean was still not distraught, Cas outright asked.

            “Are you fully recovered from discovering our brother’s in mid coitus yesterday evening?” Dean choked on his own saliva, the bluntness of the statement catching him unawares.

            “I was until you decided to call it ‘coitus’, what are you, secretly several millennia old?”

            Cas offered a small smile at this, relieved that Dean was well enough to make jokes about the situation.

            “I have been told that I am quite a bit like my namesake, but I do not believe I am quite that aged.”

            Chuckling at the dry reply, Dean made to go walk over to his normal table across the café, when Cas shyly suggested, “You could always sit here, your company is not an unpleasant one.” Dean turned back to Cas sharply, not believing what he surely must not have heard.

            “Are you, uh, absolutely sure. ‘Cause I don’t hate you either- I mean, I don’t mind at all, no!” Dean stammered through, dropping his duffle on his side of the booth (he now had a side, Dean didn’t know what to do with this information) and practically running up to the refuge of the counter, not noticing how Cas was now essentially glowing from the words Dean had just said.

            Dean placed both hands palm down on the counter, not even bothering to look up at who was running the till today, too busy hitting himself mentally over his idiotic behavior. _Get it together, Winchester._

            “I’ll have my usual, the Van Halen.”

            “Are you sure you don’t want a slice of Cas to go with your beverage, sir?”

            Head snapping up, Dean glared as harshly as he could at Gabriel, who had the biggest shit-eating grin Dean had ever seen on the man’s face, which was certainly an accomplishment. Laughing at the man who was trying so hard to look mad but was instead was getting closer and closer to resembling a ripe strawberry with his rising blush, Gabriel handed over the cup which had been already prepared, as he had seen Dean walked in and created it as he watched his brother and Dean fumble about.

            “Hope you like the art there, buck-o.” Dropping a vivacious wink, Gabriel turned to the customer behind Dean, who was fixated on whatever crude image Gabriel had adorned the Van Halen with. Not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of messing with him further, Dean took a few gulps without peering into the cup, stepping out of the way of the customer to go sit down at the booth.

            Castiel watched as Dean plopped himself down, carefully placing his cup on the surface of the table. He continued to observe as the man reached down to retrieve his things from his duffle bag, adding his own papers and pens to Cas’ own. Without any more words, the pair each picked up their pens, and began to dance their own kind of waltz. The scratching of their words sounded in harmony, the flowing of ink as smooth as the atmosphere settling over them. Not knowing, not speaking of it, they both spun their tales, not knowing that they were spinning the same one, putting themselves into their creations.

 

            “Aiden took his place in the middle of the dusty square, his focus not on the chittering citizens now lining the streets of the small town with their presence to watch the impending spectacle, but on the entirely black-clad individual posed in a straight backed position across the slowly filling square, his sapphire eyes blazing with purpose.

            “’And just who are—

            “ _—supposed to be?’ Benjamin inquired of the glowing green essence that had seeped through the thorny webs of his surroundings. The ethereal light from the creature was causing the slimy black tendrils that had been clinging to him since the moment he entered Purgatory to start receding._

_‘Who am I? I should be—‘_

_“’ —_ the one asking that question, shouldn’t I?’ Aiden proclaimed, side-stepping ever so slowly with his hand tapping the pistol strapped to his leg, his fingers itching to whip the device out and shoot. The man, who was more of a phantom with his dark appearance paired with the smooth movements of his own steps, quietly laughed below his breath, not once shifting his fingers towards the blades strapped to his own leg. Aiden clenched his fists at the sound, not enjoying the feeling of not being able to predict his opponent’s actions.

            ‘You simply walked up to me here, not knowing who I was nor really wanting to, and turned me into your villain based on your first impression of me. So, who are you to interrupt a man’s journey—

            ‘— _and not have the decency to explain who **you** are?’ Benjamin insisted of the creature, who was now floating around the man in a dizzying circle, like it was trying to cast its light over every inch of the man so that the darkness would bleed back into their own miserable depth and away from him. _

_‘No words can fully describe me, nor this place, so explanations are meaningless.’ The being whispered, small rays of the light reaching out to touch one of the multiple cuts and bruises fluttering his skin. The spot healed immediately with the contact, green light softly knitting and soothing his flesh. Benjamin looked up from the miraculous sight, a slight disagreement on his tongue._

_‘There is a way-_

_“_ ’ – to describe this meeting, this situation.’ Aiden snorted, not wanting to buy all the philosophical crap this man was spouting.

            ‘Really now, ‘cause in these parts, we like to call this a showdown.’ He wiggled the handle of his pistol whilst still keeping it in his holster for effect. The man simply shook his head, still refusing to make any movements to take hold of his own weapons.

            ‘This meeting, this is just a start of a tale just itching to be written, a tale of two unlikely people who begin at odds and become something neither of them can properly predict.’ The man gestures towards Aiden, who was now frozen by the boldness of the proclamation.

            ‘We are not the masters of this meeting, we are simply the two protagonists meeting for the first time. And how do I know this? These meetings, the introduction to the dynamic of the two stars, there is always one apt description to the relationship—

_“‘—one apt description for this place, this situation. There is one phrase—‘“_

_“_ ‘—one way that properly conveys it.’ The man continued, Aiden hanging on to every word.

            ‘That phrase? It matches this meeting, this moment. I will always look back and say—‘“

_‘—I would describe this place in my thoughts as—‘_

            “It was pure.”

            “ _It was pure_.”

 

     ***

                    The two wrote and wrote, scribbling away in an unknown sync, twisting and dancing in an unseen tango with their words. Gabriel kept coming over to refill their drinks, smiling softly at the completely absorbed pair, who even when fully immersed in their own stories still took the time to sneak small peaks at the other, somehow never noticing the other doing the same.

            The light of the faded away outside the windows, the gentle rays of daylight replaced with the cool beams of traffic lights and moonlight. Dean was the first to notice the hour, starting a little when noting the time on the clock hanging above the entrance to the café.

            “Jesus, it’s late.” Cas looked up at the sound of Dean’s voice, his pen pausing mid sentence. He looked out the nearest window, also noticing the lack of a glowing sun in the sky.

            “We both got quite enthralled with our own worlds, I believe, such is a writer’s curse.” Dean nodded in agreement, starting to gather up his papers and shuffling them into his folder. Cas also began packing up, picking up both his and Dean’s empty cups to take them over to the counter. Dean watched him stroll over, mulling over how pleasant it was to be able to have a silent companion whilst writing instead of having to sit alone in his too quietly loud apartment. Frequenting The Moose had certainly been one of the best decisions he had made in recent years, and he was certainly glad Sammy had suggested it to him, despite him now also being partially to blame for the now…confusing situation that had formed between him and this blue-eyed author.

            Cas came back to the booth to pick up his binder, waiting for Dean to finish placing his things in his duffle so they could both exit the café together. Gabriel hid behind the counter as he watched the pair walk out of the door at the same time.

            “Knew it was the right day to cook those desserts, I’m sure they will find them delicious.” He muttered to himself, laughing at his own inside joke as he walked back into the kitchen.

***

             “Damn.”  Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the swear.

            “What?”

            “Usually, I walk to the Moose.  My apartment is just a short distance from here.”  They both looked out at the downpour that had presented itself the moment they had set foot outside, which looked to have absolutely no intention of stopping.  Dean glanced over at Cas, who had his arms crossed over his chest.  His glasses had slipped to the end of his nose, a seemingly constant condition, and Dean’s hand twitched as he forced himself to be still, to ignore the urge to push them back up into proper place.

            “Well...” Dean said, rocking back on his heels as he slipped his free hand into the pocket of his jeans, fingers of the other hand fiddling with the edge of his folder.  Cas glanced over at him, his sharp blue eyes serving as a prompt for Dean to continue.  “I drive, as you know too well.  I could give you a ride home if you wanted.”  Dean offered up what he hoped was an innocent smile, even as the palm of his pocketed hand began to sweat a little.  He mentally berated himself.

            _“You’re just being nice.  The guy barely tolerates you, no pushing your luck.”_   He found himself pleasantly surprised when Cas’ face lit up with a small smile and he nodded.

            “That would be lovely, thank you.”  Cas responded.  Bracing themselves and shielding their bags as best they could, the two dove out into the rain, hurrying to the Impala.  Cas made his way around to the passenger side, and Dean was able to hop into the driver’s seat quickly enough to unlock the other door just as Cas reached it.  They managed to get to the car quickly enough that neither got very wet.  Dean shoved his duffle bag into the backseat and Cas carefully held his binder in his lap.

            “Here, let’s get some heat going,” Dean muttered as he turned the Impala on.  As always, he got a little thrill out of the beautiful growl of the engine.  Cas sat in the passenger seat, heart pounding so loudly that he feared Dean might hear it.  Though they were no closer than they ever were when they sat at their table together, there was something different in the enclosed space of the Impala. 

            Soon enough, Dean had the heater running and the chilled air quickly disappeared.  He turned and smiled at Cas.  “Where to?” 

***

            Dean pulled up at the curb outside of Cas’ apartment.  He parked slowly and turned the car off.  They sat in tense silence for a few moments, each reluctant to leave the warm presence of the other.  At last, however, Castiel turned to Dean with a smile that put Dean in danger of catching fire. 

            “Thank you for the ride, Dean,” Cas murmured.  Dean smiled close-lipped, gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles began to turn white.  Quite suddenly, Dean found himself with the overwhelming desire to lean over and kiss Cas.  The thought caught him off guard, but warmed him in a way that the Impala’s heating system couldn’t.  He gripped the steering wheel even tighter, reminding himself that Cas would probably would be disgusted with such an action. 

            “Sure, Cas.  Anytime,” he said as nonchalantly as he could.  Cas grabbed the handle of the door.  He desperately wanted to stay in the car with Dean, wanted to dump his binder onto the floorboards and crawl over the centre console.  He wanted to kiss every single one of Dean’s freckles and tell him how beautiful he was with as many words as there were stars in the sky. 

            Instead, Cas gripped his binder tightly, told him, “I’ll see you soon, Dean,” and opened the door, diving out into the rain. 

            Dean watched him get out of the car, leaving the Impala suddenly far too empty.  He watched him rush through the rain, up the steps and to the door.  Dean wanted so badly to follow, but he stayed put, just watching the trench coat dive through the rain.  He expected Cas to immediately go inside, perhaps turn and give a little wave, but instead the man paused at the top step, slowly turning back towards the Impala. 

            Through the downpour, the two men stared at each other.  Before he could really think or consider what he was doing, Dean was unbuckling his seat belt and wrenching himself out of the car, barely pausing to mutter a curse at his own potential stupidity and slam the door behind him.  As he jogged around the Impala and up to the stairs, a steady mantra that matched the pounding of the rain slammed through his head, _“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”_  

            He stopped a couple steps below Cas, who was staring down at him, his glasses fogged up and splattered with raindrops.  They were both drenched, staring at each other without the faintest idea of what was appropriate to say, both hearts pounding with words they longed to speak. 

            “Two people,” Cas began hesitantly, speaking just above the din of the rain, “Who have devoted themselves to words, and neither of us can find any to say.”  Cas shuffled his feet a little and Dean laughed, shaking his head.

            “None of them seem right.  This is so stupid, I’m supposed to hate you, and you’re supposed to hate me!”  Dean exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically, blinking through the water in his eyes.  Hope was thrumming through him at Cas’ statement

            “It occurs to me that this is all very cliché and storybook.  Ironic for two writers who, for all intents and purposes, should avoid clichés, but perfect nonetheless.  I suggest we don’t waste the opportunity talking of how we should hate one another.”  A smile twitched at the corners of Cas’ lips as he spoke, and Dean laughed outright again.

            “I’ll...”  He trailed off, biting the corner of his lip, attempting to bolster his courage.  Some small part of him swore that Castiel would surely reject him, despite what he had just said.  He cleared his throat and continued as confidently as he could manage, “I’ll make it even more cheesy and cliché and give some big, romantic speech if you want.”  Dean moved up one step so he could be closer to Cas and gave a huge, ridiculous grin.  He ached to kiss him, but was terrified of screwing things up by pushing on too hastily.  Cas smiled and motioned for him to continue.  Neither seemed to remember the fact that they were still being rained quite heavily on as Dean cleared his throat and hoped the unedited, unpolished words he could pull out of his heart would be enough.

            “You’re sometimes pretentious, but I adore the way you pronounce every part of a word like every syllable is special.  You use too many damn religious undertones in your work, but I respect and am awed by the power your words have.  You can be an out and out asshole, but I love that you won’t back away from something you believe in.  You’re absolutely incorrigible and completely infuriating, but I couldn’t and can’t stay away from you, even if you insulted my work the first time we met.”  Cas’ smile was growing steadily as Dean continued, though he was fumbling through the little speech, stuttering and stumbling along. 

            “You scrunch up your nose when your coffee is too hot, like it offended you, you bite the inside of your cheek when your characters are thinking, you run your hand through your hair when you’re exhausted because you were obviously up all night writing, and...”  Dean trailed off, his breaths coming in slight pants that painted the chilled air white.  Cas was watching him intently, the smile frozen, blue eyes taking in every part of Dean’s face, waiting for him to continue.

            “And somewhere along the way, I found that I couldn’t hate you or your infuriating quirks any more than I could stop writing.” There was another pause in which only the rain spoke.  Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it in surprise when Cas grabbed him by the coat and pulled him up onto the top step with him.

            “Brevity is the soul of wit,” Cas said, pulling him closer until their faces were inches apart.  Dean’s breath caught in his throat and then Cas’ lips were on his.  It was short and sweet, their lips cold from the rain.  Dean’s chest ached with the tenderness of it.  He kept his eyes closed even after Cas had pulled away, afraid of breaking the moment, and so didn’t see Cas’ look of wonderment as he simply stared at Dean.  The tip of his tongue ran along his bottom lip briefly, swiping away the rain as if to taste it and to taste Dean all at once. 

            At last, Dean opened his eyes to find Cas watching him.  A shiver of cold and thrill went down Dean’s spine, and he leaned forward again, capturing Cas’ face between his hands and pressing his lips to Cas’ again.  It was soft and filled with rain, and Dean just wanted to kiss Cas forever. 

            Somehow, without either realizing it, the kiss ended, and they were simply standing with their foreheads together.  How much time passed, neither knew, but at last, Cas came to his senses. 

            “Dean, if I might make a suggestion...”  Dean’s eyes opened, and Cas swore that they glowed in the low, grey light of the day.  “We’re both soaked to the bone, and frankly I can’t even seriously entertain the idea of sending you away right now.  Perhaps you might join me up in my apartment?”  The words were spoken softly, but the underlying implication made Dean grin.

            “What are we waiting for then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official Art by **[McBenik](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com)**  
>  ↪ _[Cover](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art) ☁ [Illustration](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
> Official Playlist on **[8tracks](http://www.8tracks.com/conversingconverse/as-the-ink-flows-1)**  
>  ↪ _[Reblog on Tumblr](http://waywardangel.co.vu/post/101323555785/the-playlist-for-two-stubborn-authors-fall-in-love)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **CheshireMoon** (sammylied)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.sammylied.tumblr.com/)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **RexxieConverse** (cascelestial)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.waywardangel.co.vu/) ☁ [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ofmirandalynn)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  _Want more? Check out ****[A Home Beneath The Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135366/chapters/2295273)!_


	9. Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs

            The short trek up the stairs was both agonizing and wonderful to Dean and Cas.  Agonizing in the painful lack of contact, but wonderful because both were reveling in the knowledge that they weren’t alone.  The pining, the distraction, the falling, it was all so delightfully mutual.

            At last, they reached the door to Cas’ apartment.  Fumbling, Cas pulled his keys out of the pocket of his trench coat.  His hands wouldn’t stop trembling, whether it was from the chill or the excitement, however, Cas couldn’t tell.  The tip of his key skipped around the keyhole in a futile dance until suddenly Dean’s chest pressed up against Cas’ back, a hand reaching out to steady Cas’.  The key slid home with a satisfying _click._

            “Thank you,” Cas murmured.  The low rumble of his voice vibrate through Dean’s chest and as a result, he loosed a low hum. 

            “Yeah, sure.  Let’s go in,” Dean urged quietly.  Cas nodded and opened the door at last, and the two men stepped in.  Instinctively, Dean glanced around, eyes skimming for and absorbing details about Cas’ home.  A seemingly neat and perfectly orderly living room just down the hall.  A set of hooks near the door for coats.  A straight and solid bookshelf that, at a quick glance, appeared to be alphabetized.  Little details that were so distinctly _Cas_ that Dean suddenly felt that the situation was very much real.  His little speech out in the rain, the short journey up to Cas’ apartment, everything prior to that exact moment had possessed a beautifully surreal quality to them, allowing him to think of anything except his tendency to royally screw good things up.  He found himself feeling that at any moment he would upset the gentle balance that belonged to Cas’ home, that belonged to Cas’ world.

            As Cas swung the door shut behind them, Dean felt a pit of panic climb up his throat.  Before Cas could really say anything, Dean blurted, “Do you think I could get a glass of water?”  The moment froze between them at the unexpected and out of place question.  Cas stood in a half formed motion towards Dean, having started to walk towards him.  Dean mentally cringed at the sight, realizing that in the act of trying not to break something, he’d shattered their moment completely.  After a moment of tangibly awkward silence, Cas cleared his throat and nodded, motioning for Dean to follow him down the short hallway.  They veered off to the left, into the kitchen.  Dean paused in the doorway while Cas continued to the cabinet, taking down a glass.

            The awkward silence continued as Cas filled the glass for him.  Desperate to bring their silence to an end, Dean frantically glanced around the kitchen, trying to find something he could snag as a topic. 

            “Are those...” Dean began, eyes riveted onto a container on the counter.  “Are those peeps?  In _floral_ Tupperware?”  Cas glanced around from the sink and cracked a smile at the downright ridiculous look of confusion present on Dean’s face.  Cas set the glass of water down as Dean approached the container in question, attention turning to a bright pink napkin beside the Tupperware. 

            “Take a guess,” Cas said with a short burst of deep laughter.  Dean rested his arms on the countertop as Cas reached out to pick up the note.  A small, square foil wrapper fell out of the napkin as Cas picked it up.  Horrified at his brother’s antics, Cas quickly swept the condom off the counter and into the pocket of his trench coat, much to the amusement of Dean, who found himself loosening up despite himself. 

            _“Maybe ding dongs aren’t your thing, Cassie, but don’t give up on all cream-filled delicacies!  -Love always, Gabriel.”_

Cas rolled his eyes and slid the napkin over to Dean, who cringed as he read it, reminded suddenly of his unpleasant introduction to Gabriel’s “ding dong.”  Cas watched the emotions pass over Dean’s face, a small fond smile slipping onto his face.  Dean set the napkin down and glanced up, his gaze meeting Cas’ ethereal blue eyes.  Gas’ smile grew slightly and he pulled the floral Tupperware closer.

            “Should we take a... peep at Gabriel’s creations?”  Cas asked with a suggestive smirk and a perk of his eyebrow.  A snort of laughter escaped Dean at the admittedly terrible pun, but he did finally relax.  He finally managed to convince himself that he wouldn’t break Cas, nor would he break the tentative thing that was wavering between them.

            “No, but I do know something else we should do,” Dean said in a low voice.  Cas pushed the Tupperware away gently, glad that the awkwardness between them had apparently broken.  “We should get out of these wet clothes.  Can’t be good for us to stay in them, right?”  Cas caught onto the implication immediately.  He strode over to Dean and the green-eyed author suddenly found himself pushed back against the counter.  Cool, firm hands slipped to Dean’s hips, pulling their bodies flush.  Cas didn’t kiss him immediately.  His lips skimmed along Dean’s jaw, his breath whispering across Dean’s neck.  Finally, Cas brought his mouth near Dean’s, just barely making contact.

            Dean pushed away from the counter, just far enough that he could wriggle out of his leather jacket, but the movement brought their mouths together.  The jacket was dropped to the floor and promptly forgotten.  Cas dug his fingers into Dean’s hips, tugging him closer as they kissed, desperate and needy.  Dean found himself pressed back against the counter top once more, Cas pushing against him, their bodies matching up precisely.  Cas rolled his hips into Dean’s slowly and achingly.  It drew a deep groan out of the back of Dean’s throat that both surprised and delighted Cas.

            “Bedroom,” Cas said, kissing along Dean’s jaw, “Now,” he growled into his neck.  Dean’s breath hitched in his throat as the sound went straight to his dick.  Cas moved away rather rapidly, taking Dean’s hand and leading him out of the kitchen and through the living room.  Dean couldn’t pay attention to any of it as he was too hyper-focused on how many clothes that Cas was still regrettably wearing.  Even as the thought crossed his mind, Cas let go of his hand, slipping his trench coat off and lazily throwing it onto a coat hook mounted on the wall.

            Soon enough, Cas dragged Dean into his bedroom.  Dean paused in the doorway, examining the king sized bed pressed up against the far wall, an expression of confusion and disbelief crossing his features.  Cas looked to him and then followed his gaze to the bed.  For a moment, they just stood, both trying to comprehend the unlikely scene before them. 

            Sitting squarely in the middle of the sizable bed was a platter.  Upon said platter was a cake, one obviously of Gabriel’s design.  Atop the cake was a small container.  Cas stepped closer, almost fearfully, to examine the dessert, finding a bottle of lube sticking out of the top of the cake like an X-rated birthday candle. 

            _“Use it well,”_ was written in icing in an exaggerated curly-queue font below the unorthodox decoration.  Beside the lettering was an elaborately designed winky face.  More staring ensued as Cas plucked the bottle from the cake, examining the colourful packaging briefly, his eyes darting back to Dean.

            “It would seem,” Cas started in an extraordinarily hoarse voice, “That my brother left more than the Tupperware for me to find when he sneaked into my apartment.” Dean chuckled, still too shell-shocked by the appearance of the pastry to formulate any coherent sentences. Placing the small bottle on the bedside table, and the cake on a nearby desk, Cas turned back to Dean, who was once more examining the rather large, King-sized bed.

            “Trying to compensate for something, Cas?”  Dean asked in a breathless, teasing tone.  Cas turned to look at him with a cocked eyebrow. 

            “Why don’t we stop wasting time and you can take a peep and find out for yourself?”  Cas asked.  Normally, Dean would have groaned at the continuation of the bad joke, but something in Cas’ tone only seemed to turn him on more. 

            Dean gripped the wet hem of Cas’ sweater, watching the blue eyed man intently as he slowly pulled it up, the dampness clinging to the man’s skin.  Cas raised his arms to help Dean pull it off, and soon it had been tossed off into some corner with a wet _thump._ Dean’s attention flicked over Cas’ shoulder momentarily, coming to rest on a mirror behind them.  His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the large tattoo dominating Cas’ entire back.  He’d forgotten about it after having viewed the very bottom it just once at the cafe. 

            Cas watched him closely, glasses sliding down his nose a little.  Dean gripped him gently by the shoulders and turned him.  Cas allowed it, a small smile slipping to his lips as he realized what was happening.  Dean’s hands hovered over the chilled, damp skin of Cas’ back for a few moments, simply taking in the exquisite detail of the wings that spread all across his back.  They were inked as if they’d been folded, the curve of them hugging the curve of Cas’ body.  Fingertips finally alighted upon the etched skin, trailing across the outer curve of the right wing.  A slight tremor worked its way through Cas’ body and Dean’s touch paused.  He met Cas’ eyes in the mirror, but saw no inclination that he should stop.

            Dean slipped both his hands down to Cas’ hips, fingers wrapping gently, fingertips digging in until he could feel the sharp hipbones.  He brought his face down, kissing the crests of each wing, eyes still roving over the intricate patterns of feathers.  He marveled at how much pain must have gone into making such beauty.  He was so concentrated on the inky shapes that Cas’ voice startled him.

            "I cannot help but notice how you are practically worshiping my wings, Dean.  I can think of a few other ways that your... concentration could be applied and appreciated," Cas murmured, perking an eyebrow as he peered over the top of his glasses, his ethereal blue eyes seeming to come alive with some sort of wicked inner light.  Dean found himself absolutely breathless in the face of the glorious, commanding man before him with a baritone voice that was low enough to reach to the depths of the earth.

            “Right,” Dean said, his voice husky.  Castiel turned, Dean’s fingertips skimming along the skin of his sides as he did so.

            “You’re still dressed,” Cas muttered, letting his hands slide up under Dean’s t-shirt, rucking it up as his hands went higher.  Dean touches a line of kisses along Cas’ jaw, down his neck and to his chest, ducking his head to do so, devoting himself to the task.  And so he couldn’t help but be surprised when Cas suddenly stepped back, leaving Dean standing quite alone and very confused.  One look, however, confirmed the lack of innocence in the gesture.

            “I’m going to remove the rest of your clothes, Dean.  You are not to touch me or move unless I tell you to.”  There was no question in his words, there was no pause for approval, and something about it made heat pool in Dean’s stomach.  He stood his ground, simply watching Cas, who was examining him over the tops of his glasses.  Dean swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat, but did as he was instructed and refrained from reaching for Cas as he approached once more.

            Cas’ fingers skimmed across Dean’s hips as he gripped the hem of Dean’s wet t-shirt, pulling it up ever so slowly.  The damp fabric dragged across Dean’s suddenly overly sensitive skin.  Dean remained stock still until Cas instructed him to lift his arms.  The wet garment was tossed off into some unknown corner of the room, leaving Dean half bared.  Cas moved even closer, hands slipping down to the waistband of Dean’s jeans, fingers sliding under the edge of his belt.  The movement of tugging the buckle out of place momentarily brought their hips flush together. 

            A small, almost non-existent noise escaped Dean’s throat, magnified by the otherwise silent bedroom.  Cas started to pull the belt away, loop by loop, ducking his head down to nibble away at the crook of Dean’s neck as he worked, reveling in even the smallest of gasps drawn from the man as Dean stood as still as the situation would allow.

            “You’re being so good,” Cas murmured into the hollow of Dean’s neck, the rumbling vibrations of his voice getting to Dean in ways he didn’t know were possible.  He could practically taste the rough depths of Cas’ voice and it left his mouth dry.  The belt fell to the floor with a loud _clump,_ but Cas gave Dean no reprieve.  His fingers slid to the clasp of Dean’s jeans, unbuttoning them with no pretense of gentleness.  As he worked the zipper down, it seemed to Dean that he purposefully let his knuckle drag oh so lightly against Dean’s half hard dick.  The passing touch elicited a shiver that worked its way from the base of Dean’s spine upwards.  Cas seemed to ignore it as he shimmied Dean’s jeans down, telling him briskly to step out of them and kick them to the side.

            Cas nipped at Dean’s collarbone, rubbing small circles into the V lines of Dean’s hips, working his touches down towards Dean’s final article of clothing.  One hand trailed down, palming Dean’s growing erection through the thin cotton fabric.  The sudden contact surprised Dean, and a strangled gasp escaped him.  Cas kissed him, swallowing the gasp as he tugged the underwear down and away.  Dean kicked them away without prompting.  Without breaking his lips away from Dean’s, Cas directs him backwards, towards the mattress.  The back of Dean’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and he lets himself fall back.  Cas loomed over him momentarily before straightening up, examining Dean completely laid out before him. 

            A slight flush crawled up Dean’s neck at the scrutiny, and in a moment of inspired rebellion, he sat up, hands going to Cas’ belt to start unbuckling it.  Cas slapped his hand away and shook his head, pushing Dean back onto the bed.  He grabbed him by the wrists, pinning them onto the bed on either side of him, straddling his knees on either side of Dean’s hips.   He hovered above Dean, touching nothing else but his wrists and hips.

            “Did I tell you to do that?”  Cas whispered suddenly, looking down at Dean over his glasses, which had once again slid down his nose, the lenses reflecting back the moonlight shining in from the window.  Any snarky reply that might have occurred to Dean at that moment shriveled up and disappeared at the sight of Cas hovering above him.  There was the slightest touch of red to his cheeks, his expression calm on the surface.  An energy and command simmered behind Cas’ blue eyes that left Dean speechless and breathless.

            “Do not move,” Cas said slowly, his voice slipping through every nook and cranny of Dean’s being.  He couldn’t understand why he was being instructed against moving when he wasn’t struggling in the first place.  The answer to his unasked question came when Cas suddenly shifted so that he could grind his hips slowly down into Dean’s.  Denim dragged against skin in the most achingly slow and teasing way possible.  Dean very nearly allowed his hips to buck upwards into the friction, but remembering the whispered command that still seemed to permeate his being, he forced himself to be still.

            “Do as I say or there will be... consequences,” Cas murmured before pressing a kiss to Dean’s mouth briefly.  Dean suddenly found his wrists free as Cas shifted off of him, moving to the side.  When Cas issued no further commands, Dean sat up, looking over to him.  He was throbbingly hard and hazy with desire, his full attention locked onto Cas.

            “Please remove my belt,” Cas asks.  Dean moves forward with fumbling hands to work the buckle open, but is stopped moments later.  “With your teeth.”  Dean simply stared at him for a second, almost in disbelief.  The thought of rebelling again crossed his mind, but he finds his mind far too full of a desire to have Cas closer, to have Cas _in him_ to seriously consider going against his instruction.

            Dean puts a hand to Cas’ chest, pushing him onto his back gently before moving down.  It takes a moment of awkward figuring, but Dean quickly had the belt undone.  He pulled it out slowly, loop after loop, locking gazes with Cas as he does so.  For all of his effort to keep his commanding facade up, Cas can’t help the tremours of arousal that rolled through him at the sight of Dean before him.

            The belt is thrown haphazardly off the side of the bed, and Dean wasted no time in returning to his work, unbuttoning Cas’ jeans and yanking them down with a combination of hands and teeth.  Expecting to be stopped any moment, Dean worked quickly, but found no interruptions.  

            Cas’ jeans joined Dean’s clothes into oblivion, to be stumbled upon the next morning.  Dean slid back up, turning his eyes up to meet Cas’.  The strength had drained from Cas’ limbs as he watched Dean work his belt and jeans off.  He had done so with such efficiency and grace that it stole away all of Cas’ thoughts, leaving him to simply marvel at the beautiful man who at that very moment was reaching for the waistband of his underwear.

            Dean didn’t just pull the garment away, he dragged it down slowly, the elastic brushing across Cas’ sensitive dick, sending a shiver through him.  Dean’s mouth followed the elastic’s trail, from hips to thighs first.  The last piece of Cas’ clothing was unceremoniously flung off the bed as Dean raised his head back up the Cas’ now leaking dick, flitting his tongue out to taste.  Cas gasped in surprise at the warm wetness.  Before he could recover from his surprise, he was forced to dig his fingers into the covers above his head as Dean licked a quick stripe up from the base of his dick and back up to the tip, tongue swirling around the sensitive head.

            “D-dean!”  Cas managed to groan, the sound long and low, growling out of the back of his throat.  Encouraged by the sound, Dean started to take Cas fully into his mouth, inch by inch, teasing with his tongue with every pass, laving over the little spots that elicited the greatest response from Cas.  His hips would occasionally buck upwards, but eventually Dean placed his hands on Cas’ thighs, forcing him to remain still on the bed.  He couldn’t know how long Cas would allow him to be in charge, but Dean was thoroughly enjoying seeing Cas lose control under the careful skill of his own tongue.

            “Enough,” Cas finally said, the word dragging itself out of his throat in a long drawl of pleasure.  He sat up as best he could and gently pushed Dean away, reaching to the bedside table for the small bottle that Gabriel had left for them.  Cas would never admit it, even to Dean, but he was grateful for his mischievous brother’s gift.  Having not been in a relationship for quite some time, Cas hadn’t kept the necessary supplies at his apartment. Turning on the bedside lamp with trembling fingers so he could see what he was doing, Cas popped open the lid, keeping the colourful label hidden from Dean, who was currently kissing patterns up and down his spine.  Cas slicked up a single finger with the lube, a sweet scent wafting up to him. Tube set aside for the moment, Cas turned towards Dean, putting the coated digit up to Dean’s face.

            “Suck it, Dean,” Cas said in as even of a voice as he could manage, though he was unable to completely rid himself of the slight tremble.  Without question or thought, Dean opened his mouth and Cas’ finger slid into the slick warmth.

            A shocked look crosses Dean’s face, a slight blush spreading across his freckled cheeks.  Regardless, Dean sucked at Cas’ finger obediently.  Cas was watching him, watched as Dean’s lips closed over his finger, drank in the expression on his face, so wide-eyed and pleasantly surprised, with just the most subtle edge of innocence that Cas had never really seen on Dean’s features before.

            “Strawberry?” Dean inquired, his mouth still around Cas’ slicked finger.

            “It-it would seem Gabriel’s love for desserts ends up transferring to purchases of the bedroom variety as well,” Cas stammered out with a small laugh at his brother’s expense.  Neither men could find any further words as need thrummed through them both.  Cas slid his finger from Dean’s mouth, his dick twitching as Dean gave a slight swirl of his tongue at its extraction.  Cas fumbled around to find the tube of lube, opening the lid once more with a snap.  The second time, three fingers were liberally coated with the sweet stuff.  Dean laid back on the bed without prompting, spreading his legs in anticipation. The sight of Dean laid out for him was almost too much for Cas at that moment, requiring him to take a few breaths before lowering one finger to Dean’s entrance, slowly pressing in. Dean gasped at the feeling, beginning to writhe when Cas’ finger crooked and began to circle around, stretching him. He was too overwhelmed to fully notice Cas enter a second finger, the pleasure from the man’s digits hitting _that spot_ in him every other circle, erasing all lucidity from his consciousness.

            Cas simply watched all the while.  His glasses had long since slid to the end of his nose, but he was too preoccupied to move them or take the frames off.  While Dean threw his head back, fingers tangling into the sheets, Cas looked at him, memorized the sight of him laid out and vulnerable.  All of Dean’s defenses were gone, as if they had never existed, his expression open and beautiful, his mouth slightly ajar, eyes half closed.  The sound of his hitched breathing, the flesh of his cheeks, Cas absorbed it all, committed it to memory.  He never once looked away, not even when Dean’s gaze moved down to Cas, his pupils blown wide with arousal. 

            Cas gently stretched Dean, eventually adding a third finger, and Dean welcomed the pleasant burn of it.  Cas, overwhelmed, started murmuring without really realizing what he was saying.

            “You are so beautiful, Dean,” he said.  “Beautiful, beautiful.  And mine, all mine right now.”  A groan moved through Dean’s whole body as Cas brought his other hand up to give Dean a few loose strokes.  “Beautiful and mine,” Cas whispered senselessly.  Dean gasped at the sudden absence of Cas’ fingers, feeling empty and bare.  His eyes opened fully, just in time to see Cas looming over him, lining himself up with Dean’s entrance.  A small push, a twinge of pain, and then pleasure, absolute _pleasure_ tore through the connected pair.

            Cas’ hips stuttered slightly as the first powerful wave rolled through him, but soon enough they managed to find a rhythm.  Dean’s fingers continued to tighten their hold on Cas’ sheets, and Cas’ thrusts began to slow, each push becoming a little more forceful, matching his thrusts with equally as forceful strokes.  Heat coiled tightly in his abdomen, slowly tightening all his muscles as he crept ever closer to his climax.  The room was silent but for the sound of skin on skin and the sounds of their groans and sighs, their frenzied breathing.

            A deep sound of absolute pleasure issued from Cas’ throat as everything went white, hitting his limit in the most wonderfully mind numbing way.  Cas collapsed onto Dean and mere moments later, Dean followed him into blissful white oblivion.  Almost unconsciously, Cas wrapped his arms around Dean, holding him as the undone man rode the waves of his orgasm.

            “It’s over, Dean.  It’s over,” Cas murmured over and over again, panting into Dean’s neck as they relaxed into the bed, their limbs and bodies still tangled together.  A few quiet minutes passed before Cas finally became aware of the sticky mess drying between them.  He rolled to the side leisurely, plucking a few tissues from a box on his nightstand.  Dean lay perfectly still, eyes mostly closed as Cas began to clean them both up, wadding the tissues up gingerly and placing them beside the box.  As he set aside the last soiled tissue, he reached up and clicked the lamp off.  When he turned back to Dean, he found him sleeping, apparently drained from their excursions.  A smile tugged at Cas’ lips as he settled in beside Dean, curling next to him and tugging the comforter over them.

            Cas listened to the even sound of Dean’s breathing, letting himself slowly be taken away, a little at a time, like waves lapping at the shore.

            ***

            Both men woke around the same time, but they allowed themselves to hover in a state of blissful half sleep, clinging to each other as if somehow they might float apart.  Dean laid with his back to Cas, who had his arms looped around Dean, pulling him tightly back against his chest.  They were covered only with the comforter still, but still found their own warmth in their embrace.

            At some point, their sweet aftermath was interrupted by the sudden, loud intrusion of some strain of enthusiastic classical music.  Dean shifted around and lifted his head vaguely at the noise while Cas quickly disentangled himself from their embrace and from the sheet, pulling himself out of bed.  Dean pushed himself up a little, watching him slip out of the room, admiring the brief view of him in the relative darkness of the bedroom.  He let his head fall back down onto the pillow, eyes drifting closed.  Happiness suffused his drowsiness in the best possible way, the memories of last night still replaying behind his closed eyelids.  Several minutes passed until Dean heard Cas at the bedroom door again.  The light came on suddenly and he looked up in confusion.

           “Dean, get up.  You need to get up.”  There was an urgency to Cas’ tone that immediately roused Dean.  He sat up, the blankets still wrapped around him.  Cas had a panicked look to him as he gathered up clean clothes, starting to get dressed hurriedly. 

           “What is it, Cas? What’s going on?”  Dean demanded as Cas threw him a pile of clothes.

            “It’s Gabriel,” Cas choked out, struggling to get a sweater over his head.  Dean got to his feet and walked over to him, helping adjust the garment so that it would settle on him more easily.  When Cas’ head popped out of the top of the sweater, Dean was alarmed to find him nearly in tears. 

            “What about Gabriel?  Cas?”  Dean said, gripping Cas by the wrists to get his attention.  “Calm down and tell me what’s going on.”  Dean leveled him with a firm look, and Cas latched onto the comforting green eyes, taking a deep breath before continuing.

            “There was a fire at the Moose.  Gabriel didn’t get out immediately for some reason.  He’s in the hospital,” Cas said as evenly as he could manage.  Dean felt a flutter of panic in his stomach-- not another fire, not this again-- but he forced himself to remain calm for Cas’ benefit.

            “Alright.  Can you lend me some clothes?  I’ll give you a ride.  Which hospital?”  Dean asked as Cas dove towards his drawers to retrieve the asked for clothing, responding quickly and quietly to every question Dean asked.

            Dean was soon dressed and his keys were quickly found in the pocket of his jacket, which was still in a damp heap on the kitchen floor.  Cas was still fluttery and panicking, so before they left the apartment, Dean grabbed his hand and pulled him into a tight embrace.  Cas buried his face in Dean’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

            “It’s gonna be okay, Cas.  I know everything’s kinda happening all at once, but I’m here for you, okay?  I’m right here for you, I promise,” Dean murmured.  He could only imagine how he would be reacting if something had happened to Sam and couldn’t blame Cas.

            “Thank you, Dean,” Cas mumbled.  Dean pulled him away a moment so he could look at him.  Cas stared up at him, blinking back tears.  Dean held up a finger.

            “I’ll be right back, okay?”  He said as he turned and strode off back towards the bedroom.  Cas twisted his hands together and watched him go.  He had never really had a problem with being by himself, but in that moment he was inexpressibly happy and grateful to have Dean with him.  He couldn’t imagine having to deal with this turn of events whilst still in his own solitary world, as he had always been content to dwell in before the storm of freckles through his doorstep. Dean returned a few moments later and stepped right up to Cas again.  He held up his hand to show Cas’ glasses.

            “You forgot ‘em,” he said simply as he gently placed them on Cas’ face.  The blue-eyed author couldn’t help but smile at the thoughtfulness of the action.  Dean took his hand again and led him towards the door.

            “Alright, c’mon.  Let’s go see how that brother of yours is doing,” he said.  Cas nodded and trailed behind him.

***

            For the first few minutes of the drive, Cas was completely silent, staring out the passenger side window with an expression that Dean couldn’t identify.  Rather than interrupting his thoughts, Dean left him alone, rationalizing that if he needed to speak or wanted to speak, he would.  

            “Dean,” Cas said finally, shattering the heavy silence. 

            “Hm?”

            “I should tell you something.  Warn you, I suppose,” Cas said hesitantly, staring down at his hands in his lap.  Dean glanced over at him briefly before returning his eyes to the rain slicked road.  He didn’t respond, waiting for Cas to continue.  It took him a few moments, as if he were gathering his courage.

            “My parents will be there.  My father was called first when Gabriel was admitted to the hospital.”  Dean continued to stare ahead at Cas’ words, but couldn’t help but be surprised.  He remembered the brief flash of something like grief that he had seen in Cas’ face the one time Dean had asked about his family. 

            “You never seem keen to talk about them.  What’s the story?”  Dean asked. 

            “My father kicked me out of the house on my eighteenth birthday.  He’s a very... He’s a very religious man, you see,” Cas said uncertainly.  Dean held in a groan.  He knew exactly where Cas was going with his story and it pissed him off.  His own dad had done something similar.

            John had stumbled in the door at just the wrong moment when Dean had been messing around with one of his high school boyfriends on the couch.  The fight that had ensued had not only permanently scared off that boyfriend, but had also resulted in Dean being promptly told to leave the house and to not come back.  The next day, Dean went and rented out an apartment with his after-school job money.  He had hated to leave Sam behind, but there fortunately hadn’t been that long of a separation.  Only a few weeks after Dean had been kicked out of the house, John got into an accident.  His car took on a semi-truck and predictably lost.  Dean, being eighteen, fought for and managed to get custody of Sam and took care of him from that point on. 

            “Let me guess,” Dean started, teeth gritted at his rising anger.  “Your dad found out you were into guys, was shocked and horrified that his little boy wasn’t the little angel he had always thought, and basically threw you out of the family?”  Dean asked. 

            “Essentially,” Cas responded.  Dean glanced over again and was surprised to find a faint smile on Cas’ lips.  “Afterwards, while I was packing my things, I heard my father and Gabriel yelling.  I left my room so I could listen in.  Gabriel told my father that he was bi, and that if he was going to kick me out, then he was kicking him out as well.  My father was outraged, and my mother was heartbroken, but Gabriel and I left the house together.  He helped me get on my feet, and a year after that is when I published my first book.”  Dean couldn’t help but laugh.  It seemed like such a _Gabriel_ thing to do.

            “Well, no matter what your dad says to you today, remember that he’s the asshole.  There’s nothing wrong with you, okay?”  Dean said with a brief glance to the side.  Cas was staring out the window again.

            “Okay,” he answered simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official Art by **[McBenik](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com)**  
>  ↪ _[Cover](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art) ☁ [Illustration](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
> Official Playlist on **[8tracks](http://www.8tracks.com/conversingconverse/as-the-ink-flows-1)**  
>  ↪ _[Reblog on Tumblr](http://waywardangel.co.vu/post/101323555785/the-playlist-for-two-stubborn-authors-fall-in-love)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **CheshireMoon** (sammylied)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.sammylied.tumblr.com/)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **RexxieConverse** (cascelestial)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.waywardangel.co.vu/) ☁ [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ofmirandalynn)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  _Want more? Check out ****[A Home Beneath The Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135366/chapters/2295273)!_


	10. The Lovely Bones

            “I’m looking for Gabriel Novak’s room?”  Cas asked the nurse behind the front desk of the hospital.  Dean stood back and waited, eyes twitching to and fro between the desk and Cas’ distraught features while the woman pulled up Gabriel’s information and told Cas the room he needed to go to.  Cas thanked her, turned to Dean and took his hand, leading him down the hall.  It took some searching and weaving between the flurry of nurses and patients alike, but at last they found the room, the second to last door at the end of a low-traffic hall.  

            Cas paused uncertainly a few feet from the door.  His grip on Dean’s hand tightened slightly and Dean could see something akin to fear in his eyes.

            “Hey, it’s going to be okay, Cas.  Really.  I’ll be right here with you.  I won’t leave,” Dean said firmly, making Cas look at him.  Latching onto the resolve in Dean’s eyes, Cas nodded and turned back to the room with a more determined expression, his fingers a bit more steady in Dean’s own.

            When they entered, all was quiet.  Four people stood around Gabriel, who was either asleep or unconscious.  Neither Dean nor Cas could tell.  Before either of them could get closer to look at Gabriel, four pairs of eyes turned onto them.  Dean couldn’t help but be surprised at the sight of who must be Cas’ father, they looked so similar.  Same dark hair, same blue eyes.  The difference was that Cas’ father’s eyes didn’t hold the same quiet but unquenchable spark that Cas’ did, the warmth that simmered below the blue waves.  The woman beside him was closer to Gabriel in appearance, even with the same sunlight-through-whiskey eyes.  Dean didn’t get a good look at the other two men before Cas’ father released his wife’s hand and stepped forward.

            “Castiel,” the man said simply, no affection for his son in the tone of his voice.  Under the weight of his father’s gaze, Cas nearly dropped Dean’s hand on reflex.  He suddenly felt like a young boy again, having to scrape together an explanation for his father.  They were just holding hands because they were _best_ friends, Father.  Of _course_ he wasn’t like that, of _course_ he still had that crush on the girl down the street.  

            Feeling Cas’ fingers loosen, Dean gripped his hand all the tighter, looking straight at the man before them.  Cas’ father turned his eyes onto Dean when his son didn’t say anything, his blue eyes narrowing dangerously.

            “And who is this, Castiel?”  The man asked, seemingly taking the care to enunciate every syllable he spoke.  Dean glanced behind him.  The man’s wife was looking on anxiously, and the two men at Gabriel’s bedside were standing decidedly apart.  One of them, with short, dirty blonde hair stepped forward and grinned.

            “This must be Dean,” the man said, holding a hand out to Dean with an amiable smile that contrasted sharply with the tense atmosphere.  With his free hand, Dean shook the proffered hand.  “Castiel has mentioned you several times lately,” he continued as he dropped Dean’s hand.

            “I didn’t realize that you and Michael would be here, Lucifer,” Cas commented as the blonde man moved to embrace Cas.

            “Father called us when he heard that Gabriel was in the hospital,” Lucifer said with a quick glance at their father, who was still staring rather unnervingly at Cas and Dean.  

            _“Michael?  Lucifer?”_ Dean thought to himself.  Cas had mentioned that his father was a very religious man, but Dean hadn’t realized that the apparently fanatical biblical obsession had extended to the naming of his children.

            “It’s good to see you Lucifer.  It has been awhile since we last spoke in person,” Cas said before turning his attention to Gabriel.  “How is he?”  He kept his eyes on only his prone brother and Lucifer, avoiding the gazes of his mother and father rather resolutely.  Dean stood silently, observing everyone, still holding Cas’ hand.  He could only figure that Lucifer had no part in Cas and Gabriel’s exile from the family, as they still seemed to be on good terms.  Mrs. Novak moved to her husband’s side and Dean continued to ignore the cold blue glare that was drilling into the side of his skull.

            “He’ll be fine.  He had some minor burns and smoke inhalation, but the doctors say that he’ll be okay.  He’s sleeping now,” Lucifer responded.  Dean cut a glance over to Cas, whose expression softened to one of the utmost relief.  He moved to step towards Gabriel’s bed, pulling Dean along behind him, but his father stepped in front of him.

            “Castiel.  I thought I made it very apparent that I do not approve of this sinful lifestyle,” his father said with a tight voice.  Cas’ eyes went to the floor as his father continued, “You have the right to be here to see your brother, but I do not want your... partner,” he practically spit the word, dripping in contempt.  “In here.  This should be a time for family.”  A tense silence followed.  Dean prepared to speak up, but he was cut off by a quiet, sleep-heavy voice.

            “Oh, shut up Dad.  Dean-o has been more family to Cassie and I than you have been in years.”  Everyone turned to look at Gabriel at once, who was in the process of trying to prop himself up on wobbly elbows.  Finding strength in his brother’s words, Cas rushed past his father, Dean still in tow.

            “Gabriel.  I’m so glad you’re okay,” Cas said with a sigh of relief as he came up beside Gabriel’s bed, examining his brother.  He had a few bandages on his arms, but otherwise seemed unharmed.  Gabriel gave him his best approximation of a smile, apparently still somewhat under the influence of pain medication.

            “Yeah, I’ll be fine.  You know, had to bravely try to fight the fire by myself before running into the arms of the handsome firemen when they arrived,” Gabriel said with a trademark wink.  Both Cas and Dean laughed with relief without seeing the stricken looks of the Novak parents and their eldest son.  Lucifer stood behind Cas and Dean, putting himself between them and the other three Novaks as if to shield the unorthodox coffee shop family from the disapproving gazes of the others.

            A silence followed in which Dean, Cas, and Gabriel seemed to simply enjoy the fact that they were all together.  The moment was humorously broken by an almost predatory grin settling on Gabriel’s face, even as a few small coughs escaped him.

            “So,” he began slowly, looking between both Dean and Cas, the grin never fading.  Cas canted his head to the side and Dean cocked an eyebrow, both waiting for the continuation of Gabriel’s thought.

            “You two seem awfully close this morning...” Gabriel drawled suggestively, wagging his eyebrows in his most scandalous manner, eyes dragging down to Cas and Dean’s still joined hands.  Lucifer watched the unfolding scene with increasing interest, a small smile once more tugging at his lips.

            “Well, as it was raining yesterday when I left, Dean graciously agreed to give me a ride back to my apartment--” Cas started to say before being cut off by his brother.   

            “Oh, you two didn’t get it on in Dean-o’s car, did you?”  Gabriel asked gleefully.  Cas flushed and Dean groaned, but before Gabriel could continue to interrogate his horrified victims, there came the sound of a poorly suppressed sob from the other side of the room.  All eyes turned to find Mrs. Novak barely on her feet, supported only by her husband.  With one hand, she clutched a golden cross necklace to her chest, while the other covered her mouth.  Her fingers moved aside and she looked between Castiel and Gabriel, her gaze slipping over Dean as if he didn’t even exist.

            “How far you two have fallen into sin...” She whispered accusingly.  “You live it, you breathe it, you make jokes of it!  My own sons, wallowing in their sins.  You were raised with the Lord’s love and this is how you live your lives!”  Michael stood behind his mother, hand on her shoulder, eyes on the floor ahead while his parents stared at their sons with a righteous anger and disappointment.  Dean started to stand, lips parting with ready words of defense, but Cas gripped his hand tight and pulled him back down, the strength of his hold surprising Dean.  He looked to Cas, who was staring at his parents with an unreadable expression.

            “Especially you, Castiel.  Gabriel was always the rebellious one, but you were so devoted to the Lord.  Your father and I were so proud of you, our Angel of Thursday.  And then you submitted to that, that _disease._ You let it overtake you, refused all help that I extended to you.”  Mrs. Novak spoke in a low voice, taking a step forward.  Cas was on his feet, hand leaving Dean’s to ball into a fist.

            “It is not a _disease,_ I don’t know how many times I must say it!”  Cas hissed.  Mr. Novak stepped forward and put an arm around his wife once more.

            “Don’t take that tone with your mother, Castiel,” he said in a low voice.  Lucifer and Gabriel watched the confrontation in silence, neither accustomed to the sight of their younger brother standing up to their parents.

            “I will take whatever tone I feel is necessary with anyone who challenges me on who I am allowed to love,” was Cas’ quiet response.

            “It is not the Lord’s way, it is unholy, it is _wrong._  Both you and Gabriel are abominations in the eyes of the Lord and you will burn in Hell if you don’t turn away from those who would keep you in sin!”  Michael finally spoke up, his tone vindictive and booming, eyes flicking to Dean briefly.  A silence that was louder than any words spoken thus far followed in which all gazes turned to Cas, whose expression had become drawn, as if he was in intense pain.  

            “Then I will burn gladly,” he whispered before pushing past everyone and hurriedly leaving the room, the untied ties of his trenchcoat slapping the doorframe as he turned.  Dean stood frozen, watching him go.  He felt a touch at the small of his back and turned to find Gabriel urging him forward.

            “Go after him, Dean-o,” he said.  Dean nodded and rushed from the room, hearing Gabriel’s sarcastic voice behind him as he left.

            “Congratulations, you’ve won yourself the anger and alienation of your youngest son!  How does that make you feel?”  

***

Dean looked left and right, jogging as quickly as he could through the corridors without gaining dirty looks from the passing nurses.  A flash of tan at the end of the hall alerted him to the retreating form of Cas.  He turned quick on his heel and practically ran after him, abandoning all pretenses of keeping a reasonable indoor pace.

            “Cas!  Cas, hold up a minute!”  Dean called.  As swiftly as he was moving, he couldn’t quite manage to stop completely when Cas came to an abrupt halt, turning back towards Dean.  They ended up in a half embrace when they collided.  Cas was crying so hard that it seemed he might never stop, tears pouring in streaming torrents down both cheeks.  Dean wrapped him securely in his arms and pulled him to the side of the hospital hallway.  Cas continued to sob for a while, making little hiccupping noises throughout, before he could summon the strength to speak.

            “I am not diseased!”  Cas cried into Dean’s chest, his already rumbling voice garbled from the tears.  “I don’t need to be fixed!  Why won’t they understand that?”  Dean’s brow crumpled and he held Cas even closer, as if he could somehow hold him together.  “I can either pretend that I am something I’m not, or I have to accept my eldest brother and my parents will revile my very existence,” Cas continued, his broken voice quieter.  Dean closed his eyes and sighed.

            “My dad came home early once,” Dean started.  Cas quieted considerably to listen.  “He walked in on me and my then boyfriend.  We weren’t even really doing much, he was so nervous, real shy.  Dad had been drinking, and I guess it really pissed him off that his son was a faggot, so he kicked me out.”  Dean felt Cas flinch.  “Dad’s wording, not mine.  I won’t go into the details, mostly ‘cause I don’t like to think about those.  Mom died when I was four, Sammy was still just a baby.”  Cas gasped very quietly, but Dean shook his head.  “It’s fine now, it was a long time ago.  But Dad lost it a little.  He kept a roof over our heads, but the drinking got worse over the years.  He was mean when he was drunk.”  He shook his head and briefly looked upset before clearing his expression.

            “Luckily, Sammy had been at a friend’s house, didn’t have to see any of it.  I managed to get into this small apartment that day, had already been working on it anyway.”  Cas was looking up at him, but Dean was looking past him with a slight scowl.

            “Couple weeks after Dad kicked me out, he and his car tried to take on a semi while he was coming back from the bar.  He never had a chance, really.”  

            “Oh Dean...” Cas murmured, clutching lightly at Dean’s shirt.  Dean looked back down to him and found himself startled all over again by the depth of blue of Cas’ eyes.  It contrasted so sharply against the blacks and greys of his childhood and adolescence.  John Winchester had always been able to drain the light and colour right from Dean’s life, leaving him to essentially raise his younger brother from a young age.

            “I know it’s hard, and I wish I could make it easier,” Dean said after a few moments of simply staring into Cas’ eyes, soaking in the blue of them.  “You know who you are, don’t let them change that.”  Dean jabbed a finger in the direction of Gabriel’s room as he spoke.  “You aren’t diseased and there’s damn sure nothing wrong with you.  You need to tell them that and, y’know, believe it yourself.”  Cas looked at him in confusion, so he continued, “It sounded like you were trying harder to convince yourself than to convince them of what you were saying. You don’t really believe that garbage, do you?”  Cas glanced away and was quiet for a while whilst Dean simply watched small flickers of varied emotions pass over his face.

            “I was raised for angels and guided from demons, loving God all along the way.  And then I found out that loving men apparently put me into the arms of the demons I had been raised to despise.  I tried for so long to ‘be straight.’  I went out with girls in high school, Christian girls from good families, all while trying to validate the hurried kisses and frenzied touches that happened when no one was looking, with boys whose names I forced myself to forget.  Those were the moments that I felt stunningly alive, yet ultimately damned.”  Cas spoke in a hushed and distant voice while nurses, doctors, and visitors went by without the faintest idea of the conflict raging in Cas’ heart, nor the sorrow in Dean’s.  Much as he wished to erase the pain for Cas, he knew it was something Cas himself would have to do, and no one else.

            “I convinced myself eventually that my parents would continue loving me, regardless of my beliefs.  Lucifer and Gabriel knew and loved me regardless, so I drew up the courage to talk to my parents.” Dean felt Cas tense up in his arms, preparing himself for the recollections he was about to bring back up.  “Obviously, it did not go well.  For several months after Gabriel and I left, Mother would call and visit me.  Gabriel had made it clear that he was washing his hands of our family, but Mother and I had always been close.  She hoped to ‘cleanse me of sin,’ and I hoped to convince her to accept me as I was.”  Cas looked at Dean and smiled sadly, shrugging his shoulders.

            “We were both disappointed, needless to say.  Eventually, Mother’s calls and visits stopped.  I heard nothing from Father, and Lucifer told me that Michael was standing firmly behind our parent’s decision.  I still find myself questioning my choices, but... I explore religion and the human condition in my writing to help myself accept and understand all that has been done and said because of who I love.  It helps me on a personal level, and in turn it translates into what I like to think of as honest truths.”

            Something clicked in Dean at that moment, that brief and timid explanation.  Cas immersed himself in what he seemed to fear, in what had temporarily been his undoing, much as Dean did with violence and death.  Embracing rather than running away from those things that had haunted them.  He couldn’t put his revelation into words, much as he wished to, but it sat in the centre of his chest, heavy and warm.  All that time spent fighting because they believed their writing styles were so different, when all along they were really so achingly alike.  Dean wanted to laugh and cry all at once, but instead he pulled Cas to his chest again.

            “We can’t stay haunted by our pasts forever, Cas.  We gotta get over them.  I can’t say the things I want to my dad.  You have plenty to say to yours.  You need to say it.”

            “Give me a little bit of time.  I will, I swear I will.  There are things that need to be said, and I don’t know when I might get the chance again, but I need to calm down first.”  Dean held Cas at arms’ length and looked at him.  His glasses were askew, his eyes red rimmed, and his cheeks flushed slightly.

            “Okay, yeah, let’s get you calmed down.  How about we go get some cheap hospital coffee and just sit down for a bit?  We can talk about our drafts if you want, pretend we’re at the Moose drinking Gabriel’s coffee, just the two of us,” Dean said, smiling warmly as he did so.  Cas gave a small smile in return before shyly slipping his fingers between Dean’s.  The gesture was welcomed with a comforting squeeze as Dean turned them around to head towards the hospital cafeteria.  No one gave them a second glance, as no one could read the private little story of loss and love written across their features as they made their way down the sterile hallways.  

            The universe, Cas decided as they walked along, cared little for an individual’s story, and so it was left to those who trekked the world to commit it all to memory.  He took a silent snapshot of that singular moment of the two of them.  There was nothing glorious nor magical about the picture, nothing that would suggest the depth and extent of the story behind it.  It developed and appeared slowly in his mind, like a Polaroid's resulting image, and he tucked it away in his heart to look at in times that called for strength. Their little story wasn’t complete yet, but in that moment, it finally felt as though the Universe had perhaps perked up a little.  Only he and Dean would ever be able to see the small black writing scribbled across the back of it, but that was alright.  Cas didn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official Art by **[McBenik](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com)**  
>  ↪ _[Cover](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art) ☁ [Illustration](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
> Official Playlist on **[8tracks](http://www.8tracks.com/conversingconverse/as-the-ink-flows-1)**  
>  ↪ _[Reblog on Tumblr](http://waywardangel.co.vu/post/101323555785/the-playlist-for-two-stubborn-authors-fall-in-love)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **CheshireMoon** (sammylied)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.sammylied.tumblr.com/)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **RexxieConverse** (cascelestial)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.waywardangel.co.vu/) ☁ [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ofmirandalynn)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  _Want more? Check out ****[A Home Beneath The Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135366/chapters/2295273)!_


	11. Little Women

            Dean and Cas hadn’t been sitting for very long with their cups of lukewarm coffee when Dean’s phone started to ring.  He considered ignoring it, but at the last moment he tugged it out of his pocket and answered it without looking to see who would be on the other end of the line.

            “What?”  Was his graceless answer.

            “Dean!  Why didn’t you call me about Gabriel?  I’m on my way now.  I got a call at the office from his brother, Lucifer?  He said there had been a fire at the Moose.  He says he’s okay, but I’m getting there as fast as I can.  Why didn’t you call me?”  Sam spoke so rapidly that Dean very nearly couldn’t understand him.

            “Woah, woah, slow your roll there.  Everything is okay.  And I didn’t call because a situation developed not long after Cas and I got here and I’ve been dealing with it,” Dean responded.  Cas looked at him questioningly and in response Dean mouthed, “Sam,” to him, to which he received a nod.

            “Remember why Dad kicked me out?”

            “...Yeah?”

            “Similar situation.  The difference is that instead of being a drunken asshole like Dad, they’re religious assholes.”  There was a silence from Sam’s end of the phone, filled only by the sound of traffic.

            “I see,” Sam said at length.  “Well, I’m going to get off of here, I’ll be there soon.”  Dean nodded, though Sam obviously couldn’t see him.

            “Alright, see you then,” Dean responded, hanging up and tossing his phone onto the table.

            “Sam will be here soon.  I guess Gabriel had Lucifer call him.  I would have called him, but...” He trailed off with a shrug and Cas nodded knowingly.  They sat silently for a while, cradling their Styrofoam cups, glancing at each other every now and again.  It was different than before.  They didn’t have to sneak the looks, didn’t have to hide their desire to simply observe.  Every time blue met green, there was a small electrical shock that went through both of them, making them feel just a little more alive.

            At last, Dean sighed and got to his feet.  “We better go meet Sam outside so he doesn’t get lost.  He sounded like he was panicking,” he said as he rose.  Cas nodded and drained the rest of his coffee.  They threw their cups away and made their way to the front of the hospital.

            They met Sam just outside the hospital entrance.  His hair had obviously been through an ordeal on the drive over, random locks sticking out and not a single hair in proper place.  Dean would have laughed if he could have found it funny, but the worry was so evident on his little brother's face that he couldn't help but try to soothe it.

            "Hey, Gabriel's fine, Sam.  Doctors said it was pretty mild, a few burns, a little smoke inhalation. I bet they release him later today, alright?"  He grabbed Sam by the shoulder and waited until Sam nodded in agreement.

            "Right.  C'mon, let's go see him.  I'm sure he's jonesin' for his Moose."  The comment made Sam smile at last, and Cas watched the two of them interact, reminding him much of he and Gabriel.  Dean turned back to Cas and hooked an arm around Cas' shoulder and motioned for Sam to follow them.  Agitated as he still was, Sam didn't think to make a comment about Dean and Cas' behaviour, instead letting it slip by his notice as if it was the most natural way to see them.  

            Cas stopped Sam just outside of Gabriel's room, turning the tall man towards him.  "My parents will not be pleased to see you, Sam.  You must prepare for that."  Sam's expression hardened a little.

            "I dealt with Dad abusing Dean's name for weeks before he died.  I'll be fine.  I want to see Gabe, and they are just going to have to be okay with that," Sam responded firmly.  Cas seemed relieved as Sam turned back to the door and walked in without hesitation.  Dean and Cas shared a glance before following him in, finding Sam already at Gabriel's side, leaning over him.  The Novak parents and Michael looked on with scowls while Lucifer sidled closer to the couple.

           "Gabriel, are you alright?" Sam asked.

           "I'm fine, Sam.  Barely worse for wear, don't worry your pretty little antlers about ol' Gabe," Gabriel responded without his usual bite or snark.  There was almost a softness to his voice that Dean didn't recognize, had never seen before.  It eased his features, letting some of the sarcastic lines of his face disappear for a few moments.  

           "When your brother called, I panicked, and I--" Sam started to say.  He was cut off by Gabriel grilling the hem of his suit's jacket, tugging him a little closer.

          "I said I'm fine.  Now help me give mommy and daddy a show and kiss me, you big lump." At last he spoke more like his normal self, giving Sam's jacket a sudden pull before kissing Gabriel without question or shame.  Dean couldn't help but grin, especially when Mrs. Novak was helped out of the room by Michael.  Mr. Novak stood his ground, looking as though he might burst with righteous fury.

          "Gabriel, you--"

          "No."  Surprise was tangible in the air when the disagreement was issued not from Gabriel, but from Cas.  Mr. Novak turned to his youngest son.

          "No, Castiel?"  He responded in a barely even voice.  

          "No, you're not allowed to step back in our lives and try to change us, it does not work that way," Cas said with a slow head shake. "You pushed us out of your life, you are not allowed to step in and soil our happiness."

          "You ruin your own happiness by living in sin in the flagrant way that you do, you poor, lost child," Mr. Novak shot back.  

          Cas' expression turned to one of anger.   He turned and pointed back at Sam and Gabriel, whose fingers were now intertwined.  "That? You see that Father, those two right there?  That is not sin."  He turned back to fully face his father once more.  "Do you know what is sinful? Your hatred.  Your blatant hatred and overabundance of anger.  There is nothing _wrong_ with loving anyone, Gabriel and I are not _diseased_ because we don't fit into your narrow view of what you think the world should be."

          Mr. Novak simply stared, seemingly shocked himself at his son's boldness.  The silence allowed Cas to continue, "I spent so many years trying to fix myself because you and Mother had convinced me that I was broken.  I am not something to be calibrated, something that needs tape or glue.  You need to understand that, or you need to make the choice to leave my life.  When I left home, I was told to repent my sins or leave. Now I leave the choice to you.  Accept your children for who they are, or leave.  Stay here or walk out.  That choice rests solely in your lap now, Father."  Cas moved to stand beside Dean, taking his hand and holding it to his chest, fully presenting what he meant.

         Cas glanced back at Gabriel, who nodded slightly.  Mr. Novak was staring at them in disbelief, frozen in the limbo of indecision.  It seemed never to occur to him that he might be presented with any sort of choice.  Slowly, the certainty of a decision settled across his face and Cas held his breath, almost certain of the response he would receive, but still allowing room for hope.  His father’s eyes strayed to Gabriel.

         “Your doctor said that you will be fine, probably discharged later today. As there is no immediate danger to your health and I cannot remove the danger to your soul, then your mother, brother, and myself will take our leaves.”  He looked back to Cas, who held his ground, expression firm.

         “Castiel,” he said in lieu of parting words.  His eyes rested briefly on Dean and Sam, his lip curling up almost imperceptibly before he turned and left the room.  Cas watched him go, a sense of finality settling over him like a fine mist.  He breathed it in and found that it tasted bittersweet, coating his tongue and his lungs, clinging to his skin like dull drops of dew.  He finally allowed the tension to drain out of his shoulders.  Dean felt him go slack at his side, felt him finally release the breath he had been holding since childhood.

            “Well, that was fun,” Gabriel piped up suddenly, startling a laugh out of Sam and Dean with his dry tone.  Dean wrapped an arm around Cas’ waist and pulled him close, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple.

            “Good job,” he whispered to him.  Cas gave a fleeting smile, but continued to stare at the door.  Some part of him almost hoped that the rest of his family would walk back in with apologies on their lips.  They would all get to know each other, Cas would re-acquaint himself with his parents and his eldest brother.  He would joyfully introduce Dean to all of them, recount how they met, the misunderstanding of it all.  

            Cas knew they wouldn’t return.  A solemn air remained in the room, even after Lucifer returned to inform his brothers that the other Novaks had officially left the hospital.  They had chosen to walk out of their sons’ lives rather than simply accept them as they were, and Dean couldn’t think of anything sadder than that.

            “I gave Father a choice,” Cas said to Lucifer when he inquired as to what had occurred.  “And he made his decision.  I can only assume that Mother and Michael have made theirs as well.”  His tone was neither sad nor relieved, but some strange hybrid of the two.  The sword no longer hung above his head, but he knew that there would be times he would still miss the rest of his family.

            Dean remained close to Cas, occasionally trailing small, innocent touches across Cas’ arms or shoulders.  Sam stayed beside Gabriel, the two of them murmuring to each other.  Even Gabriel’s wild spirit seemed tame by the aura of the room.  He had given up on his parents and eldest brother soon after he and Cas had been ordered to leave their home, but he knew that Cas had held on.  He had stopped openly mourning and had become a fairly successful author and a functioning human being, more or less.  As he glanced over at his little brother, Gabriel couldn’t help but feel proud of the progress Cas had made.  He smiled when Cas leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder.  It was wonderful beyond reckoning to see his little brother finally opening his heart to someone else.

            Eventually, Gabriel’s doctor returned, fortunately with discharge papers in hand.  Gabriel’s relief was almost tangible.  After everyone had bid Lucifer goodbye, all three brothers exchanging hugs, Sam stated that he would be taking Gabriel home.  The four exchanged parting words before heading to their separate cars.  When Cas and Dean both slipped into the Impala, they were silent, both absorbed into their own thoughts.  Dean half expected Cas to just get out of the car and leave without a word when they arrived back at his apartment building, though he couldn’t quite understand why the thought crossed his mind.

            Dean parked at the curb when they arrived, but Cas didn’t immediately get out.  Instead, he turned towards Dean, almost hesitantly.

            “I wanted to thank you, Dean,” Cas said after a moment.

            “For what?”  Dean asked, surprised.

            “For staying with me today, for sharing your story with me, for encouraging me to speak to my father.  I’m not sure how today might have gone had you not been there.  Things happened rather suddenly with us, from our very first meeting to last night, and I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had wanted to leave.  Anyone might have, really, but you stayed and lent me your strength, and I am very grateful.”  Cas spoke quietly but he looked so earnest and thankful that Dean’s heart fluttered and a smile slipped to his face.

            “It was no problem.  And things may have happened quickly between us, but I’d like to slow down for the first time in a long time in my life.  I want to figure things out with you, I want to do everything right.  You deserve it,” Dean responded.  Cas smiled a real smile that made crinkles appear around his ethereal blue eyes.  Without thought, Dean leaned forward and readjusted the frames of Cas’ glasses, straightening them.  Cas reached up and caught his wrist.

            “Would you come up with me?  Maybe we can watch a movie?”  Cas asked, still smiling, fingers pressing gently into the inside of Dean’s wrist.  Rather than responding, Dean leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to Cas’ lips before gently pulling his hand away and turning the Impala off.

***

            “Who knew you were such a softie?” Dean asked as Cas held up the DVD case for a sappy romantic comedy.  Despite his words, a fond smile was pulling at the corners of his lips.  “Next thing I know, you’ll be quoting Shakespeare at me,” Dean said with a teasing little grin.  Cas chuckled deeply in the back of his throat, flopping down on the couch beside Dean.  After they’d arrived at Cas’ apartment, they had spent a little time picking up the trail of damp clothes they had left the night before, sheepishly putting them in Cas’ washing machine and starting the cycle before migrating to the living room to decide on a movie to watch.

            _“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”_  Cas rattled off smoothly but without conviction, grinning.  Dean rolled his eyes and groaned.

            “If you’re going to quote at me, then at least be original and use something other than Shakespeare!”  

            “Oh, and I suppose you could do better?”  Cas asked playfully, twisting in Dean’s arms  slightly to look at him with an expectant expression.  Dean looked down at him thoughtfully, and the playfulness slipped away from his moss green eyes, replaced by something softer, more tender, a look that seemed foreign in Dean’s eyes, as he always seemed so full of some sort of mischief or fire.

            Dean knew the quote he wanted to recite, but paused.  He had known himself to be in love in the past, and he knew that’s where he was now, but Cas was different.  Dean wasn’t just in love with him.  Dean loved him.  He filled the hole in Dean’s lonely soul.  Cas had snuck in and taken residence without Dean’s having noticed, even without Cas noticing himself.  The short period of their acquaintance seemed to be a small infinity, having stretched into endless days and too many restless nights.  Flashes of days gone by went across Dean’s vision, accompanied by the scent of ink and paper and hot coffee.  He couldn’t count the days that he had known Cas, as the number would always seem wrong.  Dean felt as though he had known Cas his entire life.

            Dean reached and smoothed a few strands of hair off Cas’ forehead, his fingers lingering at the soft, pale skin.  He was sure.

            _“Love is a temporary madness,”_ Dean began at last, his voice just above a whisper.  Cas held his breath so as not to miss a word.   _“It erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body.”_ Dean paused a moment, brushing his fingers across Cas’ cheek as the man’s face flushed slightly.   _“No, don't blush, I am telling you some truths. That is just being ‘in love’, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.”_

Silence fell after Dean had finished.  Cas was still watching him, blue eyes almost completely unreadable.  Suddenly, Cas took Dean’s face in his hands and pressed a soft, short kiss to his lips, pulling away just enough to whisper to him, _“If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever. If, however, your feelings have changed, I will have to tell you: you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”_ Dean’s breath caught in his throat, but he smiled wryly and laughed quietly.

            “Did you just quote Pride and Prejudice, Cas?”  He asked teasingly.  Cas let his shoulders rise and fall in a tiny shrug.

            “Perhaps.”

            “You did.”

            “Perhaps.”

            “Are you implying I’m Elizabeth Bennet?  The Elizabeth of this relationship?”

            “...Perhaps.”

            “Cas!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official Art by **[McBenik](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com)**  
>  ↪ _[Cover](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art) ☁ [Illustration](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
> Official Playlist on **[8tracks](http://www.8tracks.com/conversingconverse/as-the-ink-flows-1)**  
>  ↪ _[Reblog on Tumblr](http://waywardangel.co.vu/post/101323555785/the-playlist-for-two-stubborn-authors-fall-in-love)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **CheshireMoon** (sammylied)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.sammylied.tumblr.com/)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **RexxieConverse** (cascelestial)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.waywardangel.co.vu/) ☁ [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ofmirandalynn)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  _Want more? Check out ****[A Home Beneath The Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135366/chapters/2295273)!_


	12. Supernatural

            The damage to the Moose was fairly extensive, but not to the point where nothing could be done.  Cas and Dean both willingly offered up a large portion of the money they had saved from their royalties to help Gabriel cover what the insurance did not.  Gabriel hired out all the structural work, but once that was finally completed, he told Cas and Dean that they were both expected to help in the repainting process.  Given that they really had nowhere else to go, both Dean and Cas agreed on the condition that they could keep their notebooks nearby in case of sudden inspiration.  Sam was dragged into Gabriel’s plans as often as he could be spared, usually after he got off work, as were Lucifer, Becky, Charlie and Kevin, much to the displeasure of the poor college student.  Gabriel promised that Kevin would still be paid for his time, despite the sudden change in daily duties, and it was enough to keep the struggling student on board.

           A big macaroni art sign hung on the door that read, “Renovations In Progress,” whenever they were all inside working.  The painting took several days, mostly because nobody could remain serious long enough to get a large portion of a wall actually painted in a timely manner.  There were many times when someone--usually Gabriel--would fling a little paint around until a full out war was started.  Clothes were re-coloured and quite often walls had to be painted over again to get rid of the speckles of mismatched paint, but fun was certainly had by all.  Even Kevin found it in himself to crack a smile and flick his brush at anyone who passed during such a time.

          Days when Charlie and Becky came to ‘help’ always proved to be a bit more eventful.  The two women seemed to be riding a constant wave of excitement over their ship going canon.  Their brush strokes became less precise the more they squealed over the new couple’s every touch of hands, every chaste kiss, colours mixing hazardously, flecks of paint flying randomly. No one had the heart to point the shoddy craftsmanship out to them, instead working the erratic strokes into the Cafe.  Becky and Charlie would stay near each other, whispering to one another about the couple that they felt they deserved credit for bringing together.  Neither seemed to realize that they, in reality, had very little to do with the two coming together, but no one told them that.  The excitement that came with Becky and Charlie’s presence was infectious, adding even more energy to the already joyous atmosphere, and so their antics were tolerated and sometimes encouraged if Gabriel was feeling particularly evil.

          During one of the many days of renovation and painting, Dean stopped and looked around, a realization trickling in.  He watched his little brother work, the sleeves of his long sleeve shirt rolled up to the elbows, hair pushed back behind his ears, stretching to reach higher places.  Cas was crouched over a bucket of paint, adjusting his glasses and catching his breath.  Gabriel dove into the back hallway for a moment, a flash of light brown hair and golden whiskey eyes full of mischief.

          “This is what family is,” Dean said suddenly.  Both Sam and Cas turned to look at him, eyebrows raised questioningly.  Dean gestured around him vaguely, hand sweeping towards both men before him.

          “Not an old drunk who can’t let go of the past, not people so blind that they can’t see past their bible, but this.  All of us working together, all of us just enjoying being with one another,” Dean said, a smile starting.  Cas rose from his crouched position, smiling across the coffee shop at Dean, noticing a small spot of paint on his cheek.  

          “Family doesn’t end in blood,” Cas said.  Sam nodded in agreement with the sentiment.

          “You have to admit that our family is a little odd though,” Sam commented with a smirk.

          “One lawyered up caffeine junkie, one not-so-innocent angel, and a man with a chewed up pen and a give ‘em hell attitude.  I’d say that’s a pretty damn good family,” Dean said, a grin stretching across his face.

          “Don’t forget their beloved trickster archangel!” Gabriel piped in as he popped back into the room with a little bounce.  Cas glanced over at him one with eyebrow perked up dramatically.

          “Shut it, Cassie.  I ain’t no puny harp plucker, I’m the big guns,” Gabriel said, standing with his hands on his hips, chin tilted up in what everyone supposed was meant to be a heroic pose.  It only served to draw a chuckle or three out of all of them.

          “I think that if Sam and Dean teamed up, they could take you, Gabriel.  Angel hunters.  Or perhaps hunters that go after anything that goes bump in the night,” Cas’ speech was slowly considerably as the gears in his head began to turn.  Dean looked over to him, latching onto the tail end of his thought and joining him in on the contemplation.

          “Hey, I wouldn’t be something that goes bump in the night!”  Gabriel whined and was promptly ignored by both Cas and Dean, who were looking at each other, eyes bright.

          “Two brothers, travelling the open roads, hunting the things you find in the closet at night with their trusty angel by their side,” Dean said, his voice growing a bit louder in his excitement.  Cas moved towards him excitedly, words jumping to his lips.

          “Saving people--”

          “Hunting things--”

          “The family business!”  They both freeze momentarily before dropping their painting supplies and rushing for their notebooks on a nearby table.  Gabriel and Sam exchange looks before shrugging their shoulders.  Dean and Cas seat themselves side by side, jotting down their ideas as quickly as their pens would allow them to, occasionally murmuring to each other about something.  Their eyes were bright with excitement, sparks of inspiration flying between them beautifully, lighting both men up from the inside out.  While Sam and Gabriel couldn’t fully understand the writing process and the wonder that came with it, they could appreciate the way that their brothers were glowing.  They seemed to fit together, side by side, pens working in equal fervour, eyes trained on the lined pages of their notebooks.

          Written in a slapdash manner across the top of both of their pages, in big bold letters was the word, “ _Supernatural._ ”  

**Author's Note:**

> Official Art by **[McBenik](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com)**  
>  ↪ _[Cover](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art) ☁ [Illustration](http://www.mcbenik.tumblr.com/tagged/atif-art)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
> Official Playlist on **[8tracks](http://www.8tracks.com/conversingconverse/as-the-ink-flows-1)**  
>  ↪ _[Reblog on Tumblr](http://waywardangel.co.vu/post/101323555785/the-playlist-for-two-stubborn-authors-fall-in-love)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **CheshireMoon** (sammylied)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.sammylied.tumblr.com/)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  **RexxieConverse** (cascelestial)  
>  ↪ _[Tumblr](http://www.waywardangel.co.vu/) ☁ [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ofmirandalynn)_  
>  ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈  
>  _Want more? Check out ****[A Home Beneath The Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135366/chapters/2295273)!_


End file.
